


Last Breath

by Angstqueen, The Neon Gang (clgfanfic)



Category: Medical Investigation (TV), The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Temporary Character Death, Virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 56,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstqueen/pseuds/Angstqueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/The%20Neon%20Gang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deadly virus nearly kills Vin and Frank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as a standalone novella.
> 
> This was originally a Mag7 fic, but Angstqueen wanted Frank and Stephen to come play in the sandbox, so they did!
> 
> The original fic was War of the Worlds, but it's traveled since then.

**Federal Building, Denver, CO**

**Monday, May 17, 2004**

**0915 Hours**

 

          Larabee looked up from the file he had been skimming as he leaned against Tanner's desk.  He frowned.  Orin Travis was headed across the office toward them, and if the serious expression on the older man's face was any indication, the news he was bringing them wasn't good.  In fact, Larabee would be willing to bet some kind of shit had just hit the fan…

          "Sir?" he greeted as the Assistant Director came to a stop, Travis' gaze sweeping over the agents, all of whom were seated at their desks, except for Larabee.

          "We need to talk, gentlemen – now."

          Chris pushed off Tanner's desk and nodded in the direction of the conference room.  Without comment, the men rose from their chairs and filed into the room.

Travis was the last one in and he closed the door behind them.  He waited until the seven agents had taken seats, then huffed out a sigh and asked, "Has anyone been monitoring the news this morning?"

          It appeared no one had.

          Travis scowled and looked down at the carpet, wishing he didn't have to break the news to the men.  "As you may or may not know, there is a government research facility here in Denver…  Well, on the edge of Purgatory, to be exact."

          "What kind of research facility?" JD asked.  He'd never heard about any government group operating in the run down neighborhood most people avoided if at all possible, and by the surprised look on Vin's face, he hadn't heard about it either.

          "A laboratory," Travis supplied.

          "Doin' what?" Tanner wanted to know.  After all, he lived there, despite all his friends' efforts to get him to move someplace safer.

          Travis' lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, then he huffed out a sigh and said, "Apparently they're doing research on bio-terrorism and counter-terrorism."

The resulting disgusted look on Tanner's face summed up his own feelings on the subject quite nicely, the older man thought.

"It gets worse, I'm afraid," Travis continued.  "A whistleblower leaked a confidential internal memo to the _Post_.  Evidently four mice being used in some of experiment are… unaccounted for."

          "What exactly does that mean?" Wilmington wanted to know, his tone defensive.

          "It means they can't find the damn things," Travis snapped back.

          That reaction apprehended the attention of all seven men.  Orin Travis wasn't a man who rattled easily, but this had clearly upset the older man.

          "The newspaper broke the story earlier today, and the television networks are all over it," Travis explained.  "According to the _Post_ story, a routine security check day before yesterday turned up the missing mice.  Apparently they've been trying to find the damn things ever since."

          "The Ides of March, how appropriate," Standish offered half under his breath.

          "What does all this have to do with us?" Josiah asked the AD.

          Travis scowled again and huffed out another sigh.  "Shortly after the paper came out this morning, the facility began receiving bomb threats," he told them.  "About two hours ago, at seven a.m., someone tossed a pipe bomb over the wall surrounding the facility.  It didn't go off, but it could have.  One of the groups who e-mailed the facility is the same eco-terrorist organization that burned the ski lifts near Aspen, and ransacked the university labs last year."

          "What will our role be?" Larabee asked his boss, frowning slightly.

          "To protect the facility until this situation is over, and to investigate who this morning's bomber was.  Forensics is looking at the pipe bomb as we speak.  They already know to copy you on the report as soon as they're done.  The IT techs are trying to trace back the e-mail threats to see who might be dangerous and who's just venting."

          Ezra leaned forward.  "Might I inquire as to what _kind_ of experiments the missing mice were being used for?"

          Travis snorted.  "You can, Agent Standish, but as of yet Homeland Security has not seen fit to share that information with us."

          "Wonderful," Buck grumbled, shaking his head.

          "Did they happen to tell you if those mice are carrying something that can be transmitted to humans?" Nathan worriedly asked the AD.

          Travis shook his head.  "That's apparently 'need to know' as well, Agent Jackson."

          "And if they _are_ carrying something that can—?" JD began.

          "Then we'd better hope their people find those damn rodents as quickly as possible," Travis interrupted Team Seven's youngest agent.  "For now, let's just concentrate on making sure no one blows up the damn facility before they find the things…"  He took a deep breath and added, "The NIH is sending a team, ostensibly to help the laboratory people find the mice, but probably to do whatever it is that needs to be done.  We just need to ensure that they're all safe while they do so.  God only knows what could be set loose on the city if someone actually succeeds in destroying the building."  The older man sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck.  "Be careful, gentlemen."

          The others nodded, but it was clear that no one was feeling particularly good about this assignment.


	2. Chapter 2

**National Institutes of Health Headquarters**

**Washington** **, DC**

**Monday, May 17, 2004**

**0515 Hours (EST)**

 

          Frank Powell was in that comfortable state between sleeping and waking.  It was early yet, the birds not even willing to stir.  Only a madman would be awake at this hour… or Dr. Stephen Connor.

          Powell supposed that wasn't fair.  After all, Stephen hadn't created the situation.  Still, he was the handiest target.  Except that the blond wasn't there in the conference room at the moment; he was in his office, gathering information.

          So Frank was using his time wisely, getting some rest while he had a chance.  Yep, his time in the Navy had prepared him well for the long, grueling hours he worked for NIH.

          Frank registered the conference door opening, but didn't open his eyes.  The whiff of body lotion and click of heels gave away the intruders' identities long before he heard their stifled giggles.

          The sound of a case file hitting the table finally merited a reaction, but Frank prided himself on the fact that he didn't jump or swear.  Instead, he merely slitted one eye open and glared at the offender, unsurprised to find Dr. Natalie Durant smiling down at him.

          "Are we disturbing you, Frank?" she inquired sweetly.

          "Hardly.  He's been disturbed as long as I've known him," Stephen said as he entered the room and began passing out folders.

          "Ha-ha… so witty, even at this hour," Powell grumbled.

          Glancing around, Connor realized something was off.  "Where's McCabe?  Did you call him, Nat?"

          The other physician nodded.  "He said he'd meet us here in half an hour.  That was…"  She checked her watch.  "…about forty-eight minutes ago."

          "Probably fell back to sleep," Frank said before a jaw-cracking yawn interrupted.  He grinned with satisfaction as Eva and Natalie followed suit.

          "If he did, I'm personally going to drag his ass out of bed and put him on the plane," Connor threatened, checking his own watch.  "Time is critical on this one, folks."

          Steven's tone captured Frank's attention and he took a sip of coffee from the cup Eva offered him.  One glance at Stephen's expression hiked his concern even higher.

          Not surprisingly, Natalie had also caught the mood.  "What's up, Stephen?"

          Checking his watch one more time, Connor frowned and said, "A research lab in Denver has lost four of their experimental mice."

          "Mice?" Eva questioned, wrinkling her nose.

          "Research?  What kind of research?" Frank asked, already looking worried.

          "Most of it's classified, but it relates to bio-terrorism and counter-terrorism," Stephen explained, handing out the folders.  "Grab your bags, folks.  We're due to board Belle in ten minutes."

          The conference room door opened to admit Dr. Miles McCabe, the youngest and newest of the team's three physicians.

          Stephen grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and headed for the door, barely sparing a glance at the younger man as he snapped, "You're late."

          "I, uh, ran out of gas," McCabe explained, feeling like a high school freshman.

          "Nat, fill him in.  Let's go, folks!  We've got some mice to catch."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Denver**

**Monday, 1130 Hours**

 

          The members of Team Seven were hard at work.  Nathan was accompanying a Forensics team, and a team from the covert laboratory, to test the area around the facility, ensuring that there had been no breach of containment.

Buck was working with the explosives experts, trying to narrow down the bomber, while JD was peering over the techs' shoulders as they worked on tracking down the sources of the threatening e-mails.

Ezra had headed out to tap his wide network of contacts and see if he could find out what Creation's Liberation Coalition was currently up to.  The most violent of the extremist environmental groups, the CLC had been known to employ deadly tactics in the past, and this was just the kind of situation that would grab their attention.

          Chris was stuck in a conference room inside the covert facility.  It had been set up to serve as their command center, and he was busy coordinating the information his men were gathering and putting together a working plan to protect the facility and the people there.

          Vin and Josiah were both outside, keeping an eye on the building.  Tanner was on the roof of another, taller building across the street from the secret research laboratory, while Josiah was working with the company that provided security for the facility to plug a few gaps the team had already found.

          Vin peered through his rifle scope, studying the rear of the nondescript facility.  He couldn't help but marvel at how it looked like any number of older, run-down buildings that littered the mostly Black and Hispanic community he lived in.  God only knew what kind of witch's brew they might be working on inside…

It made him mad.

Why didn't the people in the community know that this was happening in their backyards?

          But he already knew the answer:  Because the people in the community were expendable.

They never would have put a facility like this in Boulder, or Denver, or even one of the smaller bedroom communities.  But Purgatory?  Sure, why not.

          It wasn't right.

          His gaze wandered over the three sides of the building he could see, as well the buildings closest to the facility.  One, an Ace Hardware store, was displaying a large hand-written sign in the front window:  Mouse-traps Sold Out.

          He grinned at that.  At least the locals had kept their sense of humor – so far.

          When his cell phone rang, Vin fished it out of his pocket.  "Yeah," he said.

          "I heard from Travis," Chris' voice announced into his ear.  "They think the mice were being used in some kind of weaponized plague-shit tests."

          "Fuckin' terrific," Vin said on a sigh.  "What does that mean?"

          "Watch yourself," Larabee replied.  "No cheese sandwiches for lunch."

          "Fuck you, Larabee," Tanner replied, shaking his head as he shoved his cell phone back into his pocket.  But he was grinning.  He sighed softly to himself, remembering how he and his lover had spent their evening the night before…  The memory put a smile on his face.  Yep, Chris was a sight t' behold when he lost control like that…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Denver**

**Monday, 1300 Hours**

 

          The NIH team pulled up in front of a dilapidated building in an even more decrepit neighborhood.  An older man with graying hair and a toothy grin waved them into a secured parking lot.

          After pulling into one of the open spaces, Frank shifted the SUV into park and shut off the engine as Eva checked her map.

"Are you sure this is it?" Natalie asked doubtfully.

          "That's what the directions say," their press liaison answered, looking as uncertain as the others.

          Miles looked nervously at the burned out shell of a building next door.  "I wonder whose brilliant idea it was to house a research facility in _this_ neighborhood."

          "Actually, it's pretty damned ingenious," Frank replied.  "Who'd ever think to look here for something important or sensitive?"

          "Is it safe?" Eva questioned, still glancing around.  "For the residents, I mean.  Even if this is a… ghetto… there are people who live here.  What happens to them when the wrong chemical leaks into the sewer, or this place becomes a target when someone finds out what it really is?"

          "Collateral damage," Natalie said sadly, her expression grim.

          "That's exactly what we're here to prevent," Steven told them.  "Let's go see a man about a mouse."  He climbed out of the front passenger seat and headed for the building entrance.

          "More like several.  How the hell do you think we're going to find them in a neighborhood like this?" Frank grumbled.  "Screwing around with people's lives like this… it's not right."

          Stephen glared at him, not even bothering to respond to the old, familiar argument.  When he reached the door, he pushed the buzzer.

          A moment later, a male voice responded.  Thirty minutes later they had finally cleared the last of the security stations and were given entrance to the facility.

          "Damn," Miles murmured.  "If it's as much work getting out as it is getting in, I doubt even a dust mite could make it through, let alone a herd of mice."  He frowned.  "What do you call a pack of mice?  Would that be a squeak?"

          Stephen headed for the security office, prompting Natalie to ask, "Why aren't we going directly to the lab?"

          Connor turned and faced his team.  "There's a possibility that the mice went missing as part of a security leak.  There's a separate investigation handling that end of things.  I figured we should check in with them first, get the niceties out of the way."

          Frank snickered and Natalie opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut when Stephen pointed and glared at her.  It didn't erase her smirk, however.

          "Dr. Connor?" asked a middle-aged man as he approached the small group.  He extended his hand to Connor.  "Jason Channing.  I'm in charge of security here.  Thank you for coming."

          "We couldn't very well refuse, could we," Stephen responded, his rebuke clear.  He took a closer look at Channing.  The man carried himself with a military bearing, and he exchanged a quick look with Frank.  Powell gave him a brief nod, indicating that he had seen it, too.

          "Those mice have to be found, Dr. Connor.  Along with anyone they've come into contact with; otherwise the consequences could be devastating," Channing warned them.

          "You're kidding me, right?" Frank scoffed.  "Find four mice in a city this large, in the Rockies?  Finding the proverbial needle in a haystack would be easier.  And that's not counting all the governmental red tape—"

          "Frank."  Connor shot the man a look that silenced Powell, but Frank's expression remained angry.

          "There's someone else you should meet before I take you to the labs," Channing said.  "Dr. Connor, if you'll come with me, the rest of your team can wait here."

          Wary, Connor nodded and fell into step with Channing.  As they walked, he asked, "What branch of the military were you in?"

          His escort smiled.  "Takes one to know one, but I'm afraid I can't answer that."

          Stephen nodded.  He had expected as much, but it didn't sit well.  Whatever they were dealing with here, he had a bad feeling it was going to be nasty.

          The building was larger than it appeared at first glance, and after riding the elevator down several levels, Channing typed in a pass code and ushered Connor through.

          Stephen whistled in appreciation at the control center spread out before them.  Numerous view screens were monitored by staff, each of whom were making notes in their logs or feeding data into computers.

          "This way."  Channing indicated another locked door.  He entering another code and stood aside to let Connor enter ahead of him.

          There were two men waiting inside for them, one standing to meet them.  He was about Connor's height with sandy blond hair and piercing green eyes.

          "Agent Larabee, this is Dr. Stephen Connor from the NIH," Channing explained.  "He's here with his team to help us with the mice."

          Stephen nodded.  "We need to get started as soon as possible.  I'm going to need to see the lab and the cages where the mice were housed.  We'll need access to the experiments that they were being used for, and all data related—"

          "Whoa, slow down!" Larabee snapped.  "My team and I aren't here to hold your hand.  We've got our own work to do."

          "This investigation takes precedence over anything you have going on at the moment," Connor retorted, his voice deadly calm.

          "You don't seem to appreciate the situation here, Doctor," Larabee growled, taking a step forward.

          The older man standing on Larabee's right spoke up.  "Gentlemen, we're all here for the same—"  He never finished, another door opening to admit a smaller, younger dark-haired man.  Barely glancing at Connor, he headed straight to Larabee.

          "Chris, we got another call three minutes ago warning us about another bomb.  You want to evacuate?" the younger man asked, nearly breathless.

          Larabee looked away from Connor and turned to the younger man, taking him by the arm and leading him toward the far door.

          "Excuse me, but did he just say 'bomb threat'?" Connor snapped.  "Someone want to fill me in on what the hell is going on here?"

          The older man stood to keep Connor from following Larabee.  "Dr. Connor, let me introduce myself – Orin Travis, Assistant Director ATF.  Agent Larabee and his team are ATF."  Seeing Connor about to jump in, he held up his hand to forestall any comments.  "Please, hear me out.  There have been a series of threats, some credible, against this facility since the news broke as to its presence, and the loss of the mice.  The ATF is here to investigate, and to keep you and the people who work here safe."

          "Why wasn't I told about these threats before?" Connor demanded.  "I don't appreciate my team being put in danger with no warning."  The physician shook his head, frustrated.

          "You'll have to take that up with Homeland Security," Travis told him.  "They're the coordinating agency."

"Well, it won't be the first time we've worked under the gun – literally," Connor replied, frowning.

          Travis offered the man a thin smile.  "I'm sure.  We'll do everything we can to ensure the lab is protected, Doctor.  And that includes your team."

          "Thank you," Stephen said and checked his watch.  "Look, I'd better get back and update my people.  Tell Agent Larabee I'll be back later so we can discuss where things stand."

          Travis nodded.  "I'll tell him."

          Shooting the AD a measuring look, Connor left the security center, a leaden feeling in his gut.  This was getting more complicated by the hour.


	4. Chapter 4

**Monday, 1400 Hours**

 

          Knowing that there was a risk involved with finding the missing mice, Frank suited up in protective gear before beginning his search.  He and Stephen had decided that the first place to look for their quarry would be in the building itself.

          Powell proceeded, room by room first, checking for droppings and trace urine.  He found some of both in the kitchen, and they led him to the ductwork.

          "Damn, I hate this part of the job," he muttered, switching on his flashlight and opening the nearest grill.

          Two hours later, Frank called Connor on his cell phone.  "I found two of the damned bastards.  They were in the ductwork up on the third floor."

          "Good job," Stephen congratulated him.  "Have you eaten yet?"

          "You're kidding, right?  After what I've just seen?"

          "C'mon, Frank, you're always hungry," the blond teased.  "Meet me downstairs.  Dinner's on me tonight.  We'll get something outside the building."

          "Yeah, okay."  Powell closed his phone.  If nothing else he would be able to spend some time with Stephen.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday, 1700 Hours**

 

          "Something sure smells good," Stephen commented as they neared the small corner café Frank had remembered passing on their drive in earlier.

          "Glad you think so," Powell rumbled, grimacing.  At the moment, nothing smelled good to him.

          Connor laughed softly and clapped his partner on the back.  "C'mon, Frank, you've seen enough dead things over the years.  I would've thought—"

          "Mice, they're cousins to rats," the other man patiently explained, "which I hate, remember?"

          Stephen nodded, knowing that fact all too well, although the source of that hatred was still a mystery.  He figured Frank would tell him – some day.

          "Then try focusing on the fact that we've recovered two of the four escapees," the blond physician suggested, "thereby making our jobs easier."

          "You hope," Frank groused.  Seeing Connor's puzzled expression, he added, "That means there's still two mutant rodents running around loose.  God only knows where they holed up, and with how many others of their kind."

          Stephen couldn't quite hide his amused chuckle, but Frank's next words brought him back to the reality of their situation.

          "We got lucky right out of the gate, Stephen.  Finding those two in the ductwork… on the same floor?"  Powell shook his head.  "We're not likely to get handed the other two like that."

          Connor nodded his agreement, knowing that the chances were good that the remaining two missing mice had made it past the perimeter of the lab.  A necropsy had already showed that the first two mice had fallen prey to a mutation of the virus they had been carrying.  Where that mutation stemmed from lab officials couldn't, or wouldn't, say.

          They also were being completely close-mouthed about what the second two mice had been exposed to, or what the likely effect would be on someone who chanced upon them.  All in all, it was a lousy situation and it was already giving Stephen the beginnings of a migraine.  Hopefully, food would help.

          Frank was just reaching for the handle to the diner's door when the trill of a cell phone broke the silence.  Both men reached for their pockets, Connor grimacing when he realized it was his.

          He flipped it open.  "Connor…  You're sure?  All right, I'll be right there."  He closed and pocketed the phone with a sigh, looking regretfully at the menu displayed on the door.

          "I'll bring something back for you," Frank promised.  "Meatloaf with gravy, mashed potatoes, and green beans or carrots, right?"

          The blond grinned.  "You know me better than Lisa ever did, Frank.  See you in a little while.  Stay out of trouble!" he warned as he walked away.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**Monday, 1740 Hours**

 

          Vin sat in the small neighborhood restaurant, devouring his dinner at the worn Formica counter.  The diner, Tolson's, was a favorite among the locals, especially when Mrs. Tolson fixed roast beef for the special.

          Bob "Pop" Tolson worked the long counter while "Mom" did all the cooking.  A local teenager took care of the ten booths that were squeezed into the small dining area.  Those booths were almost full, and Vin shared the counter with two truckers he'd seen there before, and a Black man he was sure must be a first-timer.  The four of them were enjoying their meals, and bottomless cups of hot coffee, in companionable silence.

          Pop gave the ceiling a cranky scowl when a metal-rending noise drowned out the local country music station that was playing his favorite song on the radio.  "Damned exhaust fan," he grouched, filling one of the trucker's half-empty coffee cup.  "Gonna have to replace the whole damn ventilation system one of these days."

          "You finally gettin' that fan fixed, Pop?" the other trucker asked, flashing a grin at his partner.  Pop's reputation as a fix-it man was confirmed by a series of photos and newspaper articles that decorated the walls at haphazard intervals – mostly awards and citations of recognition for helpful inventions.

          "I am," the old man countered, waving his hand in the air above his head.  "That's what all the damn noise is about – couple of guys have been up there the better part of the day, hammering on the blasted thing and not gettin' any further than I did myself.  You'd think they'd finally give up or fix it!  With all I'm paying 'em, they'd better get it done."  He refilled Vin's coffee cup.  "Probably would've gotten it done hours ago, but one of 'em keeps comin' down to help himself to Mother's biscuits; can't get any work done doin' that."

          The truckers chuckled and the ATF agent smiled.  Then, with a loud, echoing series of clangs the fan started up and a cool breeze began circulating through the diner.

          "Well, it's about time," the old man grumbled, wiping his hands on a damp towel and heading outside to talk to the repairmen, muttering as he went, "Probably gonna cost me a couple day's profit, too."

          A few minutes later the old man returned.  Vin had finished his dinner and was working on a slice of Mrs. Tolson's homemade peach cobbler, one of the last she had left.  He knew she'd kept it safe for him, though.  He hardly ever missed a Monday night, thanks to her cobbler.

          The truckers had left, the counter empty now except for Tanner and the Black man.  Pop walked over and, checking to make sure he was out of the other man's earshot, asked Vin quietly, "You hear about them mice that escaped that lab?"

          Tanner nodded.

          "You know about that lab being here in Purgatory?"

          "Not a damn thing," Vin replied quietly.

          "Hell, Vin, you know how it is around here.  Mice get into everything…  You can't keep 'em out, especially in the winter, but even this time of year they're a pain in the ass."

          "I wouldn't worry too much," Tanner told him.  "They would've had to report it if those mice were carrying something that could endanger the public," he told the older man, hoping he was right, but he had his own doubts.

          Pop shook his head.  "It ain't right," he said, "just ain't right, but there ain't a damn thing we can do about it, is there."

          "Just make sure you and Mrs. T put out some extra traps," Tanner told him.

          "Already done," the old man told him, shaking his head.  "Hell, they even found a couple of 'em living up there in the fan…  One of these days we're gonna retire and leave this business to somebody younger."

          Vin grinned.  It was a familiar threat, one the old man had been making for over ten years.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Frank took his time eating, savoring the homemade texture of the potatoes and gravy.  Hands down, this had to be the best pot roast he'd had since eating in the family restaurant back in New Orleans.

          The small diner was packed, too, which was surprising given its nearly hidden location in this mostly-deserted neighborhood.  Obviously the quality of his meal wasn't a one time thing.

          In addition to the occupied booths, most of the seats at the counter were filled, too.  Since he was dining alone, Frank had chosen a seat there, rather than take up a booth.  Three other men shared the counter with him; two were truckers, if he had to guess.  The third…

          Powell wasn't sure about Mr. Mystery Man.  The mood in the diner had shifted subtly when the stranger had entered.  Frank had sized the man up quickly, deciding he was either military or police.  He recognized the other man's watchfulness, and his careful evaluation of his surroundings.  It was something honed into military personnel, something that never faded.

          Frank considered himself a good judge of character, and after studying the newcomer for a couple of minutes, he relaxed.  The guy who ran the place greeted the man with an easy familiarity that said he ate here often.  And although the man was obviously ready for trouble, he didn't seem intent on causing any.

          Stephen had mentioned that there were ATF agents working at the lab and he figured there was a good chance that this man was one of them.

          Once Powell had finished his own meal, he ordered Stephen's to go, adding a slice of apple pie as a bonus.  Knowing Stephen, he had completely forgotten his hunger by now.  Making sure Connor ate properly was a duty Frank had taken on years ago.  He included a generous tip with his payment, then waved to the owner and headed back to the lab.


	5. Chapter 5

**Monday, 1923 Hours**

 

          Vin coughed, slowing his usual run to a moderate jog.  Something was wrong.  His chest had started to burn, he was soaked with sweat, and his vision was blurring just enough to make staying on the park path an act of divine intervention.  The slower pace eased his symptoms, though, and he completed his run, ending up back at the parking lot of his apartment building.

          Bending over, he braced his hands above his knees and drew in several deep breaths, trying to chase away the vague waves of nausea that made his stomach feel heavy and his throat thick.

          Seated on the steps, ten-year-old Jesse Chavez watched Vin with growing concern.  He glanced down at the stopwatch he was holding, expecting to find that Vin had shaved another ten seconds off his regular time, but instead he found that the man was almost a full minute slower than he had been yesterday.

          "Vin, something wrong?"

          The ATF agent sucked in one more deep breath and blew it out, straightening and arching back to stretch his spine, which had begun to ache just slightly.  "Naw, just catchin' your cold, I think."

          "My cold?" the boy questioned, looking decidedly guilty.  "I'm sorry, Vin.  Really."

          "It's okay, Jesse, it's not your fault."  Vin coughed, then massaged his chest through the material of his gray sweatshirt.  "Maybe it's the flu," he corrected, not wanting the child to think he was responsible, although he probably was.  Vin had taken Jesse and his sister, Maria, to the clinic when their temperatures had spiked Friday night and their mother had woken him up, pounding on his door in a panic at three a.m.

          "Maybe you should have Dr. Agudelo at the clinic look at you," Jesse suggested.  "She's real nice.  She gave me and Maria candy after."

          "Might just do that, little man," Vin said, taking back his stopwatch and frowning at the results.  "But the first thing I'm gonna do is get a hot shower."  He looked down at the boy, adding, "And I think it's time you headed inside to get that homework finished, don't you?"

          "Ah, Vin, I _hate_ homework."

          "Yeah, well, it's the price y' pay for bein' a kid, kid," he replied, ruffling the boy's hair.

          Jesse sighed dramatically, but he stood and followed Vin inside the building, climbing the stairs behind him to the second floor.

          "Bring me your homework tomorrow morning and I'll look it over for y', if y' want," Vin offered.

"Okay!"

          "Buenas noches, Jesse."

          "Si, buenas noches, Vin!" the boy called, disappearing.

          Tanner grinned, then continued on up to the fourth floor, more than a little annoyed that he was almost winded by the time he got to his door.

          He fished his key out of a small pocket in his sweats and slid it into the lock as another cough rattled in his chest, making it ache.  His muscles were starting to ache as well.

          "Oh, yeah," he muttered as he stepped inside, "definitely catching something…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Stephen exhaled deeply as he got out of the shower.  The hot water had felt good after the long day they'd had.

          A cough from the outer room caught his attention.  That didn't sound good.  Connor frowned.  Frank had been okay earlier, when he'd brought him his dinner.

          Pulling on his robe, Stephen grabbed a towel and started to dry his hair as he exited the bathroom.

          His concern heightened when he found Frank already huddled under the blankets of one of the queen-sized beds.  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he reached out and brushed his fingers over Powell's forehead.  He was warm, but not overly so.  Still…

          "You okay?" he softly questioned.

          "Just a little under the weather," Frank answered sleepily, his eyes barely open.  "Sore throat… my chest is a little tight… tired.  Probably caught something from one of the kids last week."

          "Want me to rub your back?" Connor offered.

          "Mmm, yeah."  The other man rolled over onto his stomach.

          Stephen straddled Frank's hips and began working on loosening the tight muscles across the man's broad shoulders and back.  He grinned as Frank groaned, recognizing the sound as one of pure pleasure.

          "Like that, huh?" he teased, continuing his massage.

          "You know I do," Frank rumbled.

          Connor did know.  Not only was Frank his teammate, and his best friend, but he was his lover as well.  And sometimes the privacy of their hotel room was the only time they got to express that love outside the apartments they maintained for appearances.

          Once he felt Frank's muscles loosen, Connor shifted to a back rub intended to soothe the ache and residual tension away.  He could tell by Frank's breathing that his lover was asleep, or nearly so.

          Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on one shoulder blade before carefully climbing off.  As he neared the edge of the bed, Frank's hand shot out, catching his wrist.

          "Stay wit' me," came the nasal request.

          Happy to oblige, Connor slid out of his robe and crawled in under the covers, spooning behind his partner.  It wasn't long before he, too, had given in to his body's demand for rest.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Frank woke around 2:00 a.m., shivering violently.  His head ached and the tightness in his chest was much worse.  It took him a minute to orient himself and, when he did, he finally realized his complaining stomach was what had woken him.

          Biting back a groan, he carefully sat up.  It took several seconds before he felt he had the energy to get out of bed and stumble into the bathroom.

          When he was finished, Frank decided it would be easier, and more convenient, for him to take the empty bed.  As cold as he was, he didn't want to wake Stephen, and they had tossed the coverlet from their bed onto the empty one.  But the vacant bed's most tempting lure was proximity.  It was an extra several steps closer and, right now, getting off his feet took priority.

          Powell sank gratefully into the bed's warmth and softness, dropping off to sleep again within seconds.


	6. Chapter 6

**Tuesday, 0721 Hours**

 

          Stephen woke to an empty bed.  Something was wrong about that.  He hadn't been alone when he'd gone to sleep.  Heart racing, he sat up and looked around.  There was just enough light coming in around the closed curtains that he could see a form huddled under the covers of the other bed.

          Hearing Frank's congested breathing, Connor belatedly realized it was that sound that had woken him.  Throwing back the covers, he quickly climbed out of bed and hurried to his partner's side.

          "Frank?" he called quietly.  Reaching out, he brushed his hand against Powell's cheek and forehead, frowning at the excessive warmth he found there.  "Damn it, why didn't you wake me up?"

          "Too… tired," the other man muttered, not even bothering to open his eyes.  "You go on… breakfast… not really hungry.  Don't think I could keep it down anyway."

          "You've got nausea, too?"

          Frank nodded, then groaned as the thought made his stomach churn.  "Ended up… in the bathroom… on my knees … couple 'a times."

          Connor didn't answer for several long moments, choosing instead to stroke his hand over Powell's back in a soothing gesture.

          "I'm not sure I should meet the others.  I don't like the thought of leaving you like this," the physician protested.

          "It's just a bug, Stephen," Frank rasped, more fully awake now.  "Not like I'm dyin' on you.  You can't get rid of me that easily."

          "Thank God, but still…"

          "Still nothing.  Work first.  We agreed, Stephen," Powell reminded his lover.  Marshalling his strength, he added, "I just need a little extra rest and I'll be back on my feet.  I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

          Stephen wanted to protest, but realized the sooner he left, the sooner Frank would get that much-needed rest.  Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss on the man's warm cheek.

          "I'll be back soon with one of those cinnamon rolls you like, okay?"

          "Mmm… make it two and you've got a date," Powell murmured, closing his eyes and burrowing deeper into his pillows.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 0643 Hours**

 

          Vin sat at a table in Perkins, along with the rest of his team, the other men all eagerly devouring their breakfasts.  The sniper looked down at his omelet and sighed softly.  He had absolutely no appetite, but he knew he needed to eat.  He couldn't afford to get lightheaded while he was up on the roof, watching the lab.

          He noticed Nathan checking him out, and with good reason, too.  He was usually the first one done, and he'd hardly gotten started.

          "Vin, you feeling all right?" the former medic asked.

          "Yeah, just not real hungry," he replied, then tried to stifle a cough, but he was largely unsuccessful.

          "Ooh, that sounds nasty," Buck commented, giving the man a wary look.  The handsome man hated getting sick – it cut into his quality time with the ladies.

          "Thanks," Vin replied dryly, reaching for his coffee and hoping the hot liquid would kill the tickle that had set in at the back of his throat.

          "Sounds like you picked up a nasty cold," JD commented.  "The lunch girl, uh…"

          "Kimberly," Buck supplied immediately, nodding.

          "Yeah, her.  She had a really bad cold last week," JD continued.  "I'll bet you caught it from her when you rode down in the elevator with her last Tuesday."

          Chris' eyes rounded slightly.  "You actually remember stuff like that?" he asked JD.

          Buck rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.  "Stud, you wouldn't _believe_ some of the things this kid remembers."

          "What?" JD asked, his eyebrows climbing.  "I'm just… observant, that's all."

          "And Miss Kimberly Hartley is someone worthy of observation," Josiah added dryly, digging into his bowl of fruit, spearing several pieces with his fork.

          That won a chuckle from Buck.  "You've got that right," he agreed.  "But she's taken some kind 'a vow – plans to stay a virgin until she gets married."

          "Nothing wrong with that," Nathan told him, scraping the last of his oatmeal from his bowl.

          "A pure waste of youth and beauty, if you ask me," was the ladies' man's reply.

          Vin grinned, enjoying the banter.  And JD was probably right.  He remembered how sick the young woman had sounded when he'd exchanged small talk with her on their ride down to the lobby.  Between that and Jesse and Maria his immune system had probably been overwhelmed and finally succumbed.

          Yep, he'd caught a cold, damn it all.  Another cough tore through his chest and he couldn't quite stifle the groan it elicited.  That brought Nathan's attention back to him.

          "Damn, Vin, you'd better let me check you out when we get to the lab."

          "Ah hell, Nate, I'm fine," he replied, forcing a piece of the omelet into his mouth.  "Just a cold," he added after he swallowed.

          Larabee's gaze shifted to the sniper, the man's green eyes narrowing slightly.  "Tanner, you look like shit."

          Vin's eyes narrowed as well, and he scowled back at the man, but it had no more effect on the blond than Larabee's glare had on him.

          Chris glanced over at Nathan.  "Check him over as soon as we get there."

          The former medic nodded, the decision made, with or without Vin's approval or agreement.

          Tanner rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help feeling a little warmed by the men's concern.  It was damn nice to have a family again, even if they were a bunch of over-protective, mother-henning brothers for the most part.  All of them except Chris, that is.  He shot his lover a glare that promised revenge and getting a grin of anticipation from the blond in response.

          He shook his head and reached for his coffee, concentrating on that rather than his food while the rest of them finished their meals.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

          "Where's Frank?" Natalie asked when Stephen arrived at the hotel restaurant shortly before 7:30.

          "He's come down with something.  Said we should go ahead," Connor answered as he took a seat between her and Miles.  Eva, seated to Miles' right, frowned worriedly but didn't comment.

          "That's awfully quick, isn't it?" Miles wondered, voicing the others' concern.  "He seemed fine yesterday."

          Stephen gave a light snort.  "This is Frank, remember," he replied.  "He wouldn't say if he was feeling out of sorts, not unless there was no way around it.  And we all know how fast a stomach bug can hit."

          "Poor Frank," Nat said and winced.  "There's nothing worse than having a stomach bug when you're away from home."

          Connor nodded.  "Frank wouldn't admit anything was wrong, but this morning fever and nausea gave him away.  He said he was planning to sleep but, knowing him, he'll beat us to the lab."

          The rest of the team chuckled and nodded, recognizing the truth of Connor's assessment.  A moment later the waitress approached with menus and the team ordered their breakfast before getting down to the business of deciding how they would approach their work for the day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Tuesday, 0727 Hours**

 

          Later, while Vin was double-checking his gear, Nathan came over carrying his "kit."  Knowing he wouldn't be able to get out of it, Vin sighed and submitted to the man's examination.

          Nathan proceeded to do a quick appraisal of the sniper:  blood pressure was low, but not abnormally so for a man in Tanner's physical condition; his pulse was a little quick, though; skin slightly pale and clammy; good amount of loose chest congestion, but nothing dangerous; and a fever of almost 101.

          "Well?" Vin asked when the man was finished.

          "You've probably caught a bug of some kind."

          "I already knew _that_ , Nate," Vin replied.  "What is it, a cold or the flu?"

          "I don't know.  The NIH team could probably tell you…  I'd recommend you make sure you're getting plenty of liquids, take some aspirin or Tylenol for the fever, and pick up an over-the-counter expectorant to help with that congestion."

          Vin nodded.  He had plenty of sport drinks with him, and some Tylenol.  Maybe he could run down to the Walgreens on Parker at lunchtime and pick up the cough stuff, and some of the nose-friendly tissues…

          "I'm going to go check in, and see how the NIH is doing.  You gonna be okay up there today?"

          Vin nodded and flashed the man a grin.  "Yeah, no problem.  Weather's nice enough, and I have a six-pack of Powerade in m' bag to take up with me, some snacks, too."

          Jackson nodded.  "You start feeling any worse, give me a call, okay?"

          "Yeah," Vin replied, although he had no intention of doing any such thing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 0830 Hours**

 

          The NIH team returned to the government lab, splitting up to begin their work.

          Stephen was mildly surprised by Frank's absence, but quickly decided against calling their hotel room.  If the other man was still sleeping, he obviously needed it, and Stephen had no intention of disturbing him.  Not unless it was absolutely necessary.

          He made his way over to the desk he'd been given and sat down.  Within minutes the blond was deeply engrossed in reviewing the progress reports regarding the two experiments the mice had been used for.

          After forty-five minutes spent reviewing the documented effects on living specimens he began correlating it with data provided by Natalie and Miles from the necropsies of the two recovered mice.

          When an evidence bag containing a partial mouse carcass was dropped on his desk, Connor jumped, startled.  Glancing up, he saw that it was Powell who had delivered the unpleasant package.

          "Cats?" Connor questioned.  _Jesus, he looks lousy._   Frank's eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles beneath them.

          "Yeah, at least one," Frank confirmed, his voice raspy with congestion.  "They took off when it saw me, left their meal behind.  Probably feral."

          "Probably."  Connor scrubbed his hands over his face.  "We'll have to see about rounding up the local feline population, getting them quarantined.  At least until we're sure about a mechanism of exposure."  The physician scowled at the half-eaten carcass.  One more potential complication they didn't need.

          "Right."  Frank sighed and began to push himself back out of the chair he'd dropped into.  "No rest for the weary.  I'll get on that—"

          "No, not you," Stephen interrupted.  "Eva can take care of that.  Miles can assist if she needs it.  I want you to head back to the hotel and get some rest.  You shouldn't have been up in the first place."

          Turning slightly, Frank checked to make sure no one was close enough to overhear before growling softly, "I got bored – didn't have anyone around to make it worth my while."  He grinned when the blond flushed, just like he'd intended.

          "Frank, you're sick.  You need to rest."  Although quiet, Connor's voice held an authority that few ever dared to question – his son and Frank Powell being the two exceptions.

          "C'mon, Stephen!  I'm—"

          "Fine?  No, you're not.  You're just about out on your feet.  Take some Tylenol and lay down for a while, okay?"  When he saw the other man's mutinous expression, Stephen inwardly sighed, preparing for a battle of wills.

          "You need me here, Stephen," Powell insisted.

          Knowing he needed to change tactics, Connor softened his tone, slipping into the more personal and familiar persona he used when they were alone.

          "Please, Frank, humor me," he cajoled, letting his worry reflect in his expression.  "I don't want you getting any sicker.  I can't lose you."

          And at that open admission, Frank dropped his stubborn resistance.  But he wasn't giving up without complaint.  "That's damned dirty pool, Connor.  And you know it," he accused.  "The only reason I'm agreeing is because my stomach's still upset from finding that damned mouse.  Any other time and—"

          "I know, you'd try to kick my ass."  Connor grinned.  "I appreciate the easy win, partner.  Now, get the hell out of here.  I'll see you tonight, okay?"

          "Yeah… tonight."  Powell waved as he headed for the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 1242 Hours**

 

          Stephen ground the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing away the growing headache.  He was still trying to compile a model to explain the differences between the scientists' reports and the results of the various cultures that had been done using the dead rodents.

          A sharp tap on the doorjamb made him look up.  Natalie stood in the doorway, her expression grim.

          "Nat?"  Closing his laptop, he gave her his full attention.  "Problem?"

          "I'm afraid so.  And it's a big one."

          "Great.  What's up?"

          "The nearest hospital has reported at least four new patients in the last twelve hours, all with symptoms that can't be explained by any normal circumstance the victims have encountered."  Durant set four files on the desk in front of Connor.

          "So far, the only commonality, including the symptom spread, is that they all live and work within a few blocks of this facility."  She sighed softly.  "Worst case has happened, Stephen.  Whatever they gave those mice, it's loose, and it's jumped to the local human population."

          "Damn."  Stephen's heart sank.  He had been hoping they could contain it before that happened.  Now they were in a true race against time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 1642 Hours**

"Even though Denver's a big city, it's a small community, Stephen."  Natalie slapped the table in frustration.  "The locals mostly work nearby, they shop in this area, their kids go to school and play together.  There's a dozen different ways this could have been spread."

          "I know, but we need to find which one, Nat."  Stephen's calm voice belied his own growing frustration.  In the past few hours, two more patients had been identified.  One of the earliest, an elderly gentleman, had already gone critical.

          The lab phone rang and Connor answered it, putting the caller on speaker.

          "Okay, Eva… you're on the speaker.  I've got Natalie here with me.  Please, tell us you've found something."

          "Not much," the younger woman admitted.  "You already know that most of the affected people live within a few blocks of each other, and the lab.  Most of them work locally.  They shop locally—"

          "We already know that," Connor snapped.

          "But did you know that they also eat locally?" Rossi asked.  When only silence answered her, she continued, "One of Miles' patients reported eating at Tolsons' Diner yesterday.  And one of the folks I questioned said he never misses Monday night at the diner – pot roast and fresh baked desserts, apparently."

          "Wait a minute!"  Natalie frantically searched through her files.  "Yes!  Here it is.  Two of the families I interviewed also mentioned eating at that diner."

          "Oh my God," Stephen breathed, his face draining of blood.

          "Stephen?"  Afraid he was about to pass out, Natalie grabbed his arm, giving it a little shake.  "What it is?"

          "Frank," the blond replied, shaken.  "We were both going to eat there yesterday afternoon.  I got called away, but Frank went on without me."

          "He doesn't have an ordinary bug!" Natalie realized.  To Rossi, she said, "Good work, Eva!"

          "We're on our way back," the press liaison said.  "Take care of Frank."

          "We will," Durant assured her, looking at the lab's closing door.  Disconnecting the call, she hurried after Connor.  No way was she letting him go check on Frank alone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Natalie had barely pulled up in front of the hotel before Stephen had unlocked and opened the rental car door.  She reached out and grasped his arm, ignoring the glare he shot her way.

          "Protection, Stephen," she reminded him.  "We need to take precautions if Frank is sick with this thing."  Tossing him a mask and pair of gloves, she grabbed a set for herself before joining him.

          Stephen only nodded, afraid if he answered her, he'd gag on the words.  Fear clogged his throat, slowly suffocating him.  He had tried calling his partner on the drive over, but had gotten no answer.  Only the knowledge that his lover could be contagious had kept Connor from requesting someone from the hotel check on him.

          They kept the gloves and masks hidden as they rushed through the lobby, not wanting to create any unnecessary panic.  They were about ten steps from the open elevator door when an elderly couple got in and it closed behind them.

          Natalie reached out and hit the button, but Stephen looked around for the stairs.  He had to keep moving or the panic would consume him, and he was no good to Frank if he couldn't focus.

          Seeing the second elevator car had arrived, Natalie called out, but Connor was already through the door and headed up the steps. There would be no calling him back now.

          Durant sighed.  She knew Connor took his job seriously, even more so when it was an unfamiliar bacteria or virus they were battling.  Still, the depth of his reaction whenever Frank was involved always took her by surprise.

          The thought occasionally crossed her mind that Connor would react the same if any of them became ill, but she always discarded that notion after watching the two men together.  The bond they shared defied definition.  Durant wasn't sure the English language had a word that could adequately describe the relationship between Frank Powell and Stephen Connor.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When she got off the elevator, Natalie caught sight of a blond passing by and knew it was Stephen.  She might actually have beat him, but the car had made stops on two additional floors.

          Stephen had his keycard out and was inserting it into the lock before Nat realized he still hadn't donned the mask and gloves.

          "Stephen!  Precautions!" she reminded him.

          Connor glared, but he took the time to don the protective gear before opening the door and rushing inside.

          His lungs were burning with exertion, but Stephen didn't let it slow him down.  Intent on finding his lover, he headed for the bedroom.  One bed was neatly made, the other showed signs of having been slept in.

          "Frank?" he called, aware Natalie was standing behind him.

          The sound of a stomach trying to turn itself inside out had Stephen rushing for the bathroom.  Pushing the door open, he winced as he saw Frank huddled miserably over the toilet, wracked with dry heaves.

          Powell looked up, his bloodshot eyes widening at the sight of Connor's mask and gloves.  He shook his head in disbelief.  "No way…  Stephen, please," he begged hoarsely.  "I can't do this again.  Tell me those are to protect _me_ , not you."

          "Frank, I'm sorry—"  Connor's own voice broke and he had to stop to clear his throat.  He blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

          "Stephen…  Oh, God—"  Once again Frank leaned over the toilet, but there was nothing in his stomach left to bring up.  He groaned and would have fallen to the side except for Connor's hold on him.

          "Easy, babe," Stephen soothed, hugging the feverish man close.  "I've got you."

          "Feel… like shit," Powell rasped, holding on to Connor.

          "I know, take it easy, Frank.  We'll get you to the hospital."  Connor grasped Frank's hand tightly.  "I promise we're going to figure this out, lover."

          Natalie overheard that last as she stood in the doorway.  Watching the two men for a moment, weighing the words against the images of the men she thought she knew.  Suddenly, it made sense.

          With a groan, Powell pulled free and leaned over the toilet again.  As before, there was nothing in his stomach to empty.

          Durant winced in sympathy as she watched.  Although initially startled by the revelation, Natalie mentally set it aside for consideration at another time.  There was important work to be done.  Their friend's life now depended on it.

          "Stephen, I've called for an ambulance.  They should be here shortly," she said a few moments later.  Then, kneeling down, she studied Frank, who eyed her blearily.  Reaching out, she grasped his hand and squeezed lightly.  "Hang in there, Frank, okay?"

          Too exhausted to even speak, Powell nodded once before closing his eyes.  He heard Stephen calling for him, but decided he'd answer him later.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tuesday, 1608 Hours**

 

          "I'll get started on these right away," Natalie assured, taking possession of the vials of blood drawn from Frank.

          "Thanks, Nat."  Connor waited until she and the nurse had left, then he pulled a stool over and sat next to his lover.

          Frank was conscious, but clearly feeling miserable.  A shot had stopped the vomiting, but it hadn't totally eased his nausea.  His temperature was still on the rise and the chest congestion was also worsening.

          "Any idea… what this is yet?" Frank rasped.

          It was the question Connor had been dreading.  Taking his lover's hand, he squeezed it gently before interlacing their fingers.  "Not yet," he answered.  If it had been any other patient, Stephen would have had a hard time keeping eye contact, but this was Frank and hiding from him was something Connor had made a vow to never do.

          "Damn," Powell whispered, closing his eyes.  He was scared, even more so than when he'd been infected by the Klebsiella bacteria.  At least then they had known what they were fighting, even if the odds had been against them, but this?

          "Hey, we've gotten out of tight spots before," Stephen reminded him, the words eerily echoing Frank's private thoughts.  "Don't give up on me, Frank, no matter what.  I'm not giving up on you, got that?"

          Dark eyes bored into blue, seeking and finding reassurance that he wasn't alone in this struggle.

          The door opened and a middle-aged man entered, pushing a cart in front of him.  "I'm Jake, from respiratory therapy.  I hear you've been having some trouble breathing?"  He grabbed his stethoscope and listened to Frank's lungs, frowning slightly when he stepped back.  "Well, I think we can do something to make things somewhat easier for you."

          "Lovely," Frank muttered.  He remembered the breathe-deep-and-cough exercises while recovering from the Klebsiella.

          Powell caught a glimpse of Stephen's wince and, suddenly, he was back at the ice station at Ellesmere.  He had been lucid and conscious long enough to see the toll his illness had taken on his partner.

          The door opened again, this time admitting Dr. Miles McCabe.

          "Hey, Frank," the younger man greeted before turning to Stephen.  "I just remembered hearing that one of the ATF guys is a regular at Tolsons, too.  I couldn't find any of them at the lab.  Do you have a way to contact them?"

          Connor paled at the thought of another colleague possibly succumbing to this nightmare.

          "I can find a way."  It would mean leaving Frank, however, and he turned to look at his lover, torn between his desire to stay and his duty as a physician.

          Powell waved at the door.  "Go.  You know I hate having an audience anyway."

          With a brief nod, Connor headed for the door, Miles following behind.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 1820 Hours**

 

          That evening Vin lay stretched out on his sofa, watching the local news and thinking back over the day.  It had been boring – really, _really_ boring – and completely uneventful.  The locals had already begun to return to their regular routines, much of the news coverage having moved on to other stories.  The NIH still continued to search for the last of the missing mice, not that he or anyone else expected them to find the damn thing.

          He coughed and reached up to rub at his chest.  At least he wasn't feeling any worse than he had this morning.  Of course he wasn't feeling any better, either, but he knew better than to dwell on how he was feeling.  Better to think about something else and hope that it all went away – as quickly as possible.

          Chris and Ezra had tracked down a few of the angry e-mail writers, but so far everyone they had talked to was all bluster and no bomber.

          The analysis of the pipe-bomb hadn't turned up anything useful for them to work with.  And, God knew, these days anyone who wanted to know how to make one could just look it up on the Internet.  He doubted that was going to get them anywhere, unless whoever was responsible tried again, in which case they would nail his sorry ass and go home.  But they rarely got that lucky.

          So it looked like he was going to be stuck babysitting the building for at least a couple more days.  He sighed, knowing it could be worse.  At least this way he got to stay in one place for the majority of the day.  And Nathan and Chris were both making sure he had plenty to drink and eat, as well as a variety of medicines to take, although none of them seemed to be helping him all that much.

          The aloe-infused tissues had been a godsend, though, not to mention the licorice Larabee had somehow snuck into his bag of supplies.  Those cut through the annoying itch and masked it for a little while every time he ate one of the little black lumps.

          He grinned.  Chris always took good care of him.

          For a brief moment he wished he was out at the ranch, instead of there in his apartment.  But he didn't want Chris to catch his cold, or whatever the hell it was he was suffering with.  Still, he didn't much like being alone when he was hurt or sick, and he'd gotten out of the habit once he and Chris had gotten together that first year he'd joined the team.

          Not that he'd ever admit it to any of the others, but it sometimes made him downright teary whenever Chris insisted he come out and stay at the ranch until he was on his feet again, even if it meant Larabee caught his bug as a result.

          And whenever that did happen, Vin always made damn sure he returned the favor, staying with Larabee until he was feeling better, too.  They watched each others' backs and that meant a hell of a lot to the sniper, who had spent a large portion of his life feeling alone.  But nearly as much since he'd joined Team Seven.

          "Ah hell, 'm turnin' into a damn crybaby," he grumbled at himself as he reached up and rubbed the pooling moisture from his eyes.  But he honestly did feel blessed to have friends like Josiah and Nathan and Ezra and Buck and JD…

          And doubly-blessed to have found someone like Chris to love, who loved him in return.

          Lying there on the roof today, sweeping the building through the scope on his rifle, he'd noticed that one of the NIH guys looked like he'd caught a cold, too.  It was the same man he'd seen in Tolson's, although he hadn't known at the time that he was one of the people the NIH had sent.  Poor guy.  He'd heard from Josiah at lunch that the man had spent his first morning there crawling though air ducts, looking for the elusive rodents.  That would have just sucked if he'd been feeling anything like the sniper had been this morning.

          Vin coughed again, this time the wet, tearing sound making him wince as it sent shards of pain lancing through his lungs.  Damn.  If he got any worse, he'd have to call in and get Chris to put him on sick leave, something he didn't want to do.  It just didn't feel right to him for the team to be out there without him…

          He sighed, knowing he ought to get up and go fix himself something for supper – soup, maybe; it would be hot and light – but he just didn't have the energy.  Another cough tore through his chest, making him moan.

          Damn but he hated being alone when he was feeling like this…  Chris had just spoiled him the last few years…  Maybe he ought to give up the apartment and move out to the ranch full time…  But he knew he couldn't.  His connections to the people in the building, and the community were strong.  They had helped him to survive when he'd been a hungry, cold, homeless teenager, and he owed them his continued support, but, damn, sometimes it was so tempting to just put the past behind him and live with Chris full-time…

          A knock at his door startled him, but before Vin could sit up, Chris had used his key to open the lock.  The blond stepped inside carrying a takeout bag from Tolson's.

          "Hey," the blond greeted, a worried frown on his face.  "That sounded terrible."

          "Didn't feel too good, neither," Vin acknowledged, peering at the takeout bag.  "Y' pick somethin' up for me?"

          "Nope, I was hungry," Chris replied, deadpan, but then he grinned.  "Yeah, I thought you might like some of Mother's chicken soup."

          "Great minds think alike," Vin wheezed, maneuvering into a seated position.  "I was just thinkin' I should go make m'self some soup."  He watched as Chris went to the kitchen to get the soup ready, and felt his eyes filling again.  He cursed softly, wondering what in the world was wrong with him.  He was turning into some kind of weepy-Wilma.

          "You say something?" Larabee called.

          "No, nothin'," Vin replied, reaching for a tissue so he could blow his nose and wipe his eyes.  By the time he'd tossed the tissue into the small trashcan he'd moved to the end of the coffee table when he'd gotten home, Chris was back with a bowl of homemade chicken soup and a sleeve of crackers.

          "Here you go," the blond said, setting both on the coffee table and then heading back to the kitchen, saying, "You get started on that and I'll make us some coffee."

          "Okay," Vin agreed, reaching for the spoon in the bowl and taking a sip of the tasty broth.  "Mmm," he sighed, his eyes closing.  He sucked a thick noodle into his mouth, along with a piece of carrot and asked, "Pop's fan still fixed?"

          "Yeah, I think so," Chris called from the kitchen.  "But he and Mother seem to be coming down with something, too."

          "Oh, man, I hope I didn't get them sick," Vin said, looking guilty.

          "You eat in there recently?" Chris asked, coming out to sit in the one recliner in the living room.

          "Last night," Vin said, then took another bite of the hearty soup.  He loved Mrs. Tolson's homemade chicken soup, but his stomach was telling him it really _wasn't_ hungry.

          "Can't catch a cold from somebody that quick," Chris assured him.

          "I was in there a couple 'a times last week, too – _after_ I been exposed t' Kimberly."

          Larabee offered him a shrug.  "Well, maybe…  You feeling any better?  You look worse."

          "Gee, thanks."

"I'm just saying you don't look so good…  Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Vin replied, forcing down another spoonful of the soup, but then he stopped as it threatened to come right back up again.

          "Vin?" Chris asked, seeing the look of panic that passed through the younger man's eyes.

          "Guess I'm just not hungry," Vin replied, looking and sounding guilty.  "Sorry."

          " _You_ … not eating some of Mother's chicken soup?"

          "Hell, I'm sproutin' feathers here, Larabee," Vin complained, setting the almost full bowl back on the coffee table and slumping back against the sofa cushion.

          Chris stood and walked over to the couch, sitting down next to Tanner and reaching out to press his hand to the sniper's forehead.  "Jesus, Vin, you're burning up…"

          A coughing spasm contorted the sniper's face and he gripped his sides.  "Yer tellin' me?" he ground out.  "Hell, t' be honest, it's been gettin' worse all day.  Can't eat, fever's hangin' on, 'n' I hurt all over, too."

          Larabee frowned.  Whenever Vin's accent thickened up like that he knew the sniper was feeling bad – really bad.  "Sound like this might be a flu bug, not a cold."

          Vin nodded, looking distraught.  "Be just m' luck.  Just hope everybody else doesn't come down with it, too."

          "I'll warn Travis," Larabee said, his frown deepening as he noted the sudden pallor of Vin's face.  "I think you better stay home tomorrow.  I don't want you around the others until I can get everyone a flu shot, or a cache of antibiotics, Kleenex and cough drops."

          "Thanks," Vin rasped, looking hurt.  "Yer concern's overwhelmin' me here, Larabee."

          Chris grinned.  "Yeah, well, your crud seems to be worse than anybody else's I've seen.  Maybe we should call the doctor, get you in there to see him tomorrow."

          Vin only hesitated long enough to suffer through another series of coughs before he nodded.  "Fine.  Hand me m' cell 'n' I'll give Chandler a call."

          The easy capitulation had Chris feeling glad that he'd suggested a trip to the doctor's office, because if Vin was giving in this easily, he _needed_ to see the man, and as soon as possible.  "Okay, you call the doctor and I'll go see if the coffee's ready.  You think you can keep that down, or do you want some tea instead?"

          Tanner shook his head.  "Rather have the coffee," he said as he surfed down his phone list until he found Chandler's number and let the phone dial for him.  A moment later he was speaking to the physician's answering service.  After a couple of coughs, he was told to arrive at eight; the doctor would see him first thing in the morning.

          "Thanks, I really appreciate it," he told the woman.

          _"No problem,"_ she replied.  _"You sound terrible.  If you need to, you can go to the emergency clinic at Summit any time, and Dr. Chandler will be paged."_

          "Naw, I should be okay 'til tomorrow mornin'."

          _"Okay,"_ the woman said, _"but if that cough gets any worse, I think you might want to come in."_

          "All right," Vin said, hoping it wouldn't come to that.  He hated hospitals.

          Chris returned and handed him a coffee mug that was almost full.  "See if I put enough sugar in that."

          Vin tried a sip and nodded.  "Thanks."

          "So, when do you see him?"

          "Tomorrow, at eight," Vin replied.

          Larabee sat, sipping on his coffee as the news continued to play on Tanner's television.  "You know, I think you should come out to the ranch tonight.  I'll drop you off at the clinic on my way into work tomorrow."

          Normally, Vin would have argued with him, not wanting to be a bother, but he really was feeling lousy and he didn't want to face a long night alone and miserable.  He nodded, saying, "T' be honest, I's kind 'a hopin' you'd say that."

          A ribbon of fear stirred in Larabee's gut when he heard that.  It wasn't natural – no arguments, no moaning about everybody trying to mother hen him, no "I'm fine, damn it," no nothing except the revelation that he'd _wanted_ to go with him to the ranch.  Tanner was definitely sicker than he was letting on.

          "Okay," Chris said at last, "you finish that coffee and we'll get going."

          Vin nodded, hoping he could make it through the night without needing to be taken to the ER.  But, quite simply, he felt like shit.  He was hot, his chest hurt, his head hurt, his muscles hurt, and his stomach was warning him to set the coffee down – _now_ – or accept the consequences.

          He set the cup down, saying, "Probably better if I wait t' have some out there."

          "Oh… okay," Larabee replied.  He set his own cup down and helped Vin to his feet.

          They made it halfway to the bedroom to get some clothes for tomorrow before the sniper's hand flew to his mouth and he turned abruptly, hurrying to the bathroom instead.  He just made it, too.

          Chris stood in the doorway, listening as Tanner's stomach rejected the soup and the coffee.  A moment later, Vin raised one hand and waved him out of the room.

          Chris pulled the door closed behind him and leaned back against the wall in the hallway, waiting until the sounds of Vin being sick finally stopped.  But the door didn't open, so he resigned himself to waiting.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summit** **Hospital and Trauma Center**

**Purgatory, 1600 Hours**

 

          The respiratory therapist had left, and Frank was relieved.  Although he knew the treatment was necessary, and beneficial, it had left him exhausted and weak.

          He wondered where Stephen was, knowing it was too much to hope that his lover was eating, or getting some rest.  Years of past experience told him the other man was running down leads and harassing the laboratory staff.  And more aggressively than usual, too, because it was Frank who was – once again – on the sick list.  Nothing was guaranteed to motivate Stephen quicker.

          Although Frank could wish, for more than one reason, that it wouldn't come to this – not again.  He would give anything to spare both himself and his lover the pain and uncertainty of serious illness so soon.

          The door opened again and he fought back a groan.  It was no doubt someone else wanting "just a little" of his blood, or for him to breathe deeply and cough.  He closed his eyes, hoping that if he feigned sleep it might just get him off the hook.

          "That's the oldest trick in the book, Frank," an amused female voice reminded him.  "They teach us not to fall for it when we're in our first semester of medical school."

          "Yeah, I know," Powell groused, slitting open an eye and grinning at Natalie, "but I still like to see if there's one of you I can sucker into it."

          She snorted.  "Not someone working with Stephen Connor, that's for sure."

          "Yeah."  Frank picked the lint off the blanket, unable to meet her gaze.  He dimly remembered that she'd been with Stephen back at the hotel.  She would have had to have been deaf, dumb _and_ blind not to have seen that there was more than friendship between him and Connor.

          "Listen, Natalie…"  He cleared his throat, still not looking at her.  "Back at the hotel— That is… I, uhm—"

          "Hey, this is me, remember?" she chided him, coming closer and resting her hand on his arm.  "Whatever is between you and Connor is your business, not mine.  But for the record, it doesn't surprise me, and it doesn't offend me.  Okay?"

          Natalie could tell by his expression that she'd said the right thing and she cursed herself for not coming to check on him earlier.  He was sick enough without having to deal with the added stress of being outed to a colleague and a friend.

          "Thanks—"  A coughing spasm hit and Frank grimaced as he tried to catch his breath.  "Any idea… what this is yet?"

          Durant shook her head, her expression shadowed with worry.

          "None of the symptoms exactly match what we expected to see from the data on the experiments the missing mice were being used for.  Some patients are presenting with symptoms from either one or the other of the experimental groups, but there are a small number of patients whose symptoms overlap both."  Natalie shook her head, frustrated.  "I keep getting the sense that there's something we're missing, or that we haven't been told."

          Frank laughed weakly.  "Maybe the mice held a damn conference on the best way out of the building and infected each other."

          The physician stopped, surprise.  She knew her friend had made the suggestion in jest, but it actually held some merit, enough to make it worth pursuing.  "Get some rest, Frank," she advised, seeing that he was on the verge of doing so already.

          "Mmm," he murmured, then roused enough to call, "Nat, which group?"

          Pausing with her hand on the door, Durant hoped she hadn't heard correctly.  "What?"

          "You heard me."

          Dark eyes held her gaze and she fought the instinct to squirm.  Lying to Frank was something she simply could not and would not do, but she found she had to clear her throat before she could force any words out.  "The third group, Frank."  Natalie watched that sink in as she returned to his bedside.  Taking his hand, she held it tight.  "We've fought against the odds and won before.  We can do it this time, too.  So don't you dare even consider giving up.  Got that, mister?"

          "Yeah, got it."  His eyes drifted closed again as sleep overtook him.

          Durant continued to hold his hand until it became lax in her grasp.  She considered again what she'd learned, discovering it wasn't really a surprise at all, given the level of closeness between Stephen and Frank.  The real surprise was that they managed to keep it hidden as well as they did.

          This was going to hit Stephen hard.  She had been with them at the ice station when Frank had nearly succumbed to the Klebsiella bacteria.  Stephen had held it together, but just barely.

          He would do the same this time, at least well enough to do the job, but afterward?  A chill ran through her.  If he lost Frank…

          Natalie shook her head.  It wouldn't happen.  It couldn't.  And she was going to do everything in her power to make sure of that.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1910 Hours**

 

          Stephen's patience had worn thin by the time he obtained a telephone number for contacting the ATF team.  He hadn't been able to reach anyone at the number he had been given for the covert lab, so, gritting his teeth, he'd called NIH Director Kate Ewing, knowing her contacts could secure a number for him.

          Forty-five minutes later, Connor was connected to AD Travis, who gave him the numbers for the members of Team Seven.  The first one to pick up was Josiah Sanchez.

          "Mr. Sanchez, this is Dr. Connor, NIH.  I'm trying to reach a member of your team.  I'm not sure of his name, but I'm told he frequents Tolsons' Diner.  Do you know who that might be?"

          A deep chuckle rumbled down the line.  _"That would be Vin Tanner.  He might be thin as a rail but, he's got a pair of hollow legs when it comes to Mrs. Tolsons' and her desserts."_

          "Do you know how I can reach him?"

          _"Sure do."_   Josiah rattled off Vin's home and cell phone numbers with ease.  _"Is everything all right?"_

          "We're not sure," Stephen replied.  "That's why we need to talk to him."

          Josiah's phone beeped, alerting him to another incoming call.  The caller ID told him it was Chris and he knew he needed to take it. _"Hold on, Doctor, my boss is on the other line."_

          Stephen waited impatiently for the two minutes it took Sanchez to return.  The other man's tone put him instantly on alert.

          _"Doctor, Chris is with Vin right now; seems he's pretty sick."_

          "Damn," Stephen murmured, "that's what I was afraid of."

          _"Where are you now?  I'll have Nathan Jackson, our medic pick you up and you can check on Vin yourself."_

          Stephen gave him the name of the hospital and Josiah promised his ride would be there within half an hour.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1932 Hours**

 

          "Vin?" Chris called, listening, but not hearing anyone moving around in the bathroom.  He was holding a cup of the herbal tea Nathan had given each of them to help settle their upset stomachs.  "Vin?"

          "Don't want none," was the muffled reply.

          Still, the sniper's voice sounded like he was right behind the closed door and Larabee jumped, spilling several drops of the hot liquid onto his pant-leg.

          "An' don't blame me if y' got wet.  Don't think I c'n keep it down.  Y' better get out 'a here, too… can't afford fer everybody t' get sick just 'cause I am."

          "Vin, I want to make sure you're okay," Chris argued, glowering hotly at the closed door; the skin on his leg still burned.

          "Feels like I got the flu.  I _look_ like I got the flu.  An' I'd really like t' just throw-up alone… in peace."

          Larabee pursed his lips, but he shook his head and relented.  "All right, you win… this time.  But I'm only going as far as the living room.  If you need me, call me."  He set the cup of tea down on the floor outside the bathroom – in case Vin changed his mind – and headed for the sofa in the living room.

          Tanner waited until he was sure Chris had left, then opened the door and cornered the cup.  Scooting back so he was leaning against the wall of the small bathroom, he took a sip, hoping the tea might quell the tempest raging in his gut.  But, after two more sips, he was bent over the toilet again, heaving it all back up.

          He wasn't sure how much time had passed, and it took him a moment to register the fact that someone was knocking on the bathroom door.  He reached up and flushed the toilet, then dragged himself to his feet and shuffled to the door.

          "What d' ya want now, Larabee?"

          "It's me, Vin," Nathan's voice replied.  "Look, I've got Dr. Connor out here.  He's from the NIH.  We need a sample from you."

          Vin opened the door.  "Sorry, I was… indisposed," he apologized, noting the doctor was wearing a mask over his nose and mouth.  The man's piercing blue eyes studied him like he was some exotic specimen.

          "Just a precaution," Connor explained, reaching up to touch his mask, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the agent's pale features, accentuated by the bright fever streaks that cut across his cheekbones.  "Is your fever climbing?"

          Tanner's eyebrows arched slightly.  "Not sure.  I was… occupied."

          Connor nodded at the covered toilet and Vin moved back to sit down.  The doctor then ran through the same checks Nathan had performed on him that morning.  Finally, the doctor produced a small plastic petri dish about the size of a half-dollar.  "I need a sample."

          Vin accepted the container, his forehead rippling in concern.  "Of what?"

          Connor grinned at the nearly scandalized tone of the agent's comment.  "Sputum, Agent Tanner."  When Vin's expression remained blank, he pointed to the small container.  "Cough, and spit it in there."

          Vin made a face.

          "You heard the man, cough," Nathan said, punctuating the command with the jabbing point of his finger aimed at Tanner.

          Vin complied.

          "Very good," Connor said, taking the sample and placing the lid over it.  "The analysis should be done in an hour or so.  With luck, you're looking at the flu.  Your symptoms match.  In the meantime, drink lots of liquids, rest, and stay warm.  And stay here, too."

          "Thanks, Doc," Vin said somewhat sarcastically.  His gaze shifted to Larabee, who was leaning against the doorjamb as he added, "That mean I need a fulltime babysitter?"  He really wanted Chris to go home before he caught this thing, too.

          Connor frowned behind his mask and his gaze cut to Larabee.  "That might not be a bad idea.  Can you stay here with him until I call you with the results?"

          "Sure," Chris replied.

          "Gee, thanks, Doc," Vin grumbled as Connor packed up to leave, Nathan already waiting for him out in the hallway.  "You're a real friend."

          "Go rest.  I'll call as soon as I know something," Connor said, turning to leave.

          "I'll see you out," Chris said, asking Vin, "You be okay?"

          Tanner nodded.  "Gonna go t' bed."

          Chris escorted Nathan and Connor to the door, then, after checking to see if Vin had done like he'd said, asked, "I called Nathan to come check on Vin, how did you—?"

          "I called Agent Sanchez to ask if anyone on your team was sick," Connor said, pulling his mask off.  "He told me about Agent Tanner and offered me the chance to come along."

          "Why?" Chris asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

          Connor sighed softly, then met Larabee's gaze, saying, "Because one of my team is sick, too… as well as three lab technicians and at least four people from the local community."

          It took a moment for the truth to register, but when it did, Larabee swallowed hard and said, "It's out there, isn't it."

          It wasn't a question and Connor nodded.  "It appears so."

          "How?"

          "Two of the mice managed to get out of the building…  One is still unaccounted for."

          "Are they—?"

          "I don't have any answers for you at the moment, Agent Larabee."

          "The others who are sick, they have whatever it was the mice were carrying?" Nathan asked.

          Connor nodded.  "And I'm reasonably sure Agent Tanner does as well, but I won't know for sure until I test this sample.  In the meantime, the two of you are officially quarantined in this apartment."

          Chris' expression hardened.  "Doctor, I have—"

          "Nothing to worry about except for your man in there – at least for the time being.  Now, I need to get back to the lab.  If this is what I think it is, I'll call and have you bring him to the lab."

          Larabee nodded and let the doctor go.  As he closed the front door he felt a cold knot of fear begin to tighten in his gut.  He walked to Vin's phone and called Josiah.

          _"Sanchez,"_ the man said when he picked up.

          "Josiah, talk to me."

          _"It's not good, Chris,"_ he said.  _"Frank Powell, one of the NIH investigators, is pretty sick, and seven locals are, too.  The NIH was able to determine that it's definitely related to the plague strain the mice had been injected with, but it's changed somehow."_

          "Who else is sick?" he asked.

          _"An older couple who own a restaurant not far from the lab, a UPS delivery woman – we're checking to see if she made a stop at the lab after the mice turned up missing – and two air conditioning repair guys from a shop in Purgatory.  Oh, and two students from the technical school down here."_

          "And Vin…"

          _"Maybe, but…"_

          "Yeah…" Chris said on a breath.  Tanner had it, too.


	10. Chapter 10

**Tuesday, 0615 Hours**

 

          "Damn it, this just isn't possible," Dr. Miles McCabe grumbled.  Looking over at his colleague, he asked, "Nat, can you double check these results for me?"

          The request surprised Durant; Miles was rarely unsure of himself.  Still, the stakes were high on this one.  "Sure," she replied, joining him.

          She compared results on the two slides.  "Are you sure these are from the same patient?" she asked.

          "Yes.  I triple-checked them, Natalie."  McCabe shook his head.  "This just doesn't make sense."

          "What doesn't make sense?" Connor asked as he entered the room.

          "Hey, Stephen," Natalie greeted.  "Miles asked me to double-check these results, and it appears it's mutating beyond the parameters the lab personnel expected."

          "Are you sure?" Connor queried, peering into the microscope.  "Maybe there's something you're missing."

          "I checked the results twice before asking Natalie," Miles defended.  He handed a sheaf of papers over to the older man.  "This is what the lab originally projected, but tell me what you see on those slides."

          The challenging tone sparked Connor's own ire.  "It's your job to tell me, Dr. McCabe."

          "Stephen," Natalie cut in, "I agree with Miles' findings.  The cultures are mutating in unexpected ways."

          Connor shot her a measuring look, then nodded sharply.  "Find out why.  And I want the answer yesterday."  The blond stalked out of the room, not quite slamming the door behind him.

          "Son of a—"  Miles cut the curse short, angry that he still let Connor get to him like this.

          "Let it go, Miles," Natalie advised.  "You know Connor's got a lot on his mind right now."

          "Yeah, well, maybe he needs to remember he's not Frank's only friend," McCabe growled before returning to his work.

          _Maybe so,_ Nat thought, _but he is Frank's only lover, and that's the part of him that's lashing out right now._   Knowing the best way to help her friends was to find a solution, Natalie returned to her own samples.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 2110 Hours**

 

          Vin lay on a narrow gurney, staring up at the ceiling of the small exam room in the laboratory.  The tiles in the ceiling were all white, two of them water-stained, the patterns reminding him of a pair of manatee.  He sighed, wishing someone would hurry up and tell him something.

          Running his hand over his face, he sighed again, a little louder, which captured the attention of the other man sitting in the room.

          Josiah pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to Vin.  "You need something, brother?"

          Vin rolled his head to the side and met the man's eyes.  "Just gettin' bored," he admitted.  "How long can this take?"

          The big man chuckled softly.  "You know, for a sniper you have an amazingly low tolerance for waiting."

          Vin scowled at the man, but he knew it was true.  "Just different, I guess.  I hate just layin' here with nothin' t' do… waitin'."

          Josiah nodded.  "You could try sleeping."

          "Tried that," Vin said, a slight grin on his lips, "didn't work."

          Josiah grinned back.  At least Vin looked a little better than he had when Chris had brought him in to the lab a while ago.  The NIH was reasonably sure that Tanner had somehow been exposed to the plague-carrying mice.

Some of the paleness might have left Vin's face, but he was obviously not feeling his usual self.  "You want me to go see if I can find you a magazine or something?"

          "No, thanks, Josiah," Vin said, knowing he didn't feel well enough for that.  "Why don't y' tell me what's going on with the mice 'n' all."

          "Well, according to the lab guys, the NIH found two of the little beasts in the building sometime this morning," Josiah explained.  "But they didn't say where.  The, uh, partial remains of a third were found in the alley between here and the hardware store this afternoon.  Evidently that one, or probably the last one, got out of the building and spread the whatever-it-is to a few people."

          "Includin' me," Vin added.

          "Yeah, probably you, too."

          "Are they… okay?"

          "They're sick, like you, but okay as far as I know."

          "So they still haven't found the last one of them mice?"

          "I don't think so."

          "And the two they found here in the buildin'?"

          Josiah didn't want to, but he said, "They were dead.  Succumbed to whatever they had been exposed to."

          "Any headway on the bomber?" Vin asked, deciding he didn't really want to think too much about what finding the mice dead might mean for him and the others who were sick.

          Sanchez shook his head.  "Not really, we—"  He shopped short when the door was pushed open and Dr. Connor and Chris came in.  He could tell by the look on Larabee's face that something was wrong.  "We have a problem?" he asked.

          "Definitely a problem," Connor replied for Chris.  He looked at Vin and quickly averted his gaze, looking at Josiah instead as he said, "Agent Tanner has definitely been exposed to an engineered virus," he said.

          "Great," Vin muttered, reaching for a face mask that was sitting on a rolling tray near his gurney.  "Tell me again what this bug is?"

          "To be honest, Agent Tanner, we're not sure exactly what it is we're dealing with just yet," Connor said, his tone apologetic and a little annoyed.  He ventured a look at Tanner's concerned blue eyes, then tapped the back of a closed medical file against his open palm.  "But we do know what it's not."

          "And that would be?" Josiah prompted.

          "It's not a natural bacterial or viral strain of plague.  It resembles two of the engineered strains that they have been working on here, but it's not identical to either one of them."

          "How is that possible?" Josiah asked, confused.

          "That's what we're currently trying to determine," Connor told him.  "We're sending samples to our labs in DC, and to the CDC in Atlanta, for further analysis.  And the researchers here are trying to determine if this is one of their newest strains, or if it's one that's mutated somehow."  He looked back to Vin, adding, "We don't think the strain is actively contagious any longer, so you don't have to wear that mask."

          "Then he's going to be okay?" Chris asked the doctor.

          "To be honest, we can't say yet," Connor replied, folding his arms over his chest and looking at the three men.  His gaze came to rest on Vin.  "I'm sorry, Agent Tanner, but you've inadvertently become part of a government experiment.  We're just going to have to wait and see what happens.  I want to keep you here so we can treat this thing as it develops – _if_ it develops."

          "That's it?" Larabee asked.

          "It's all we can do at this point.  But I do need to determine where Agent Tanner became infected."  Connor looked back at Vin.  "The cases we have so far have one commonality.  Mr. Tanner, did you happen to eat at Tolson's Café yesterday evening?"

          Vin nodded.  "Yeah, I did."

          Connor nodded.  "Then it seems the café is the source of the contagion," the doctor said.  "My man ate there as well.  And both Mr. and Mrs. Tolson are also sick, as well as the two men who were working on their air conditioning unit, their waitress from Monday night, a UPS delivery woman, two students, and a family of four who also ate there."

          "They all sick like me?" Vin asked him.

          "Yes, although some are worse, and the symptoms aren't identical in all of the cases," Connor said, but he did know that they were _all_ getting sicker by the hour and, so far, he and his team hadn't been able to come up with a single thing that looked like it might help.

          "What happens now?" Vin asked him.

          "Now we get you moved into a more comfortable bed," Dr. Connor said.  "We'll get you started on an IV so you don't get dehydrated, too.  Try to get some rest."

          "Easier said than done, Doc," Tanner replied.

          The man nodded, the expression in his eyes sympathetic.  But then he had a man who was sick, too.  Vin's gaze slipped past the doctor to meet Larabee's eyes.

          "Is there anything we can do?" Chris asked Connor.

          "Just make sure nobody blows up the building before we get this figured out," the doctor relied.

          "Count on it," Larabee told him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Tuesday, 2145 Hours**

 

          "You look… exhausted," Frank noted as Stephen sank into a chair next to his bed

          "Forget me," Connor said, waving the concern aside, "how are _you_ doing?"

          A cough ripped through Powell before he could answer and Stephen winced at the wet, harsh sound.  Leaning forward, he grasped Frank's hand in his, gripping tightly as if to give the man some of his own strength.  This was all too damned familiar.

          When the spell passed, Stephen poured some water into a glass and offered it to his lover, but Frank shook his head wearily.  "Couldn't… keep it down…" he rasped.

          Connor nodded, suspecting as much.

          "Tell me… where we're at."

          "One of the ATF agents has it, too," Stephen said.  "That brings the total to thirteen, including you.  We still don't know what it is, exactly, but we do know it's not something naturally occurring."

          Powell studied his companion closely.  Stephen was lousy at lying and keeping secrets and his expression sent chills down Frank's spine.

          "Stephen… talk to me… what—?"

          The blond took a deep breath, covering their joined hands with his other one.

          "It's mutating, Frank.  You know what that means, right?"  Connor's eyes were moist with unshed tears.

          "Yeah… makes it… impossible to find… a cure," the ill man wheezed.

          "Not impossible," Connor said, shaking his head emphatically.  "We're not giving up on this, Frank.  You know me better than that.  But you can't give up either, no matter what."  His voice broke at the end and he felt his control slipping.

          "Hey—"  Sitting up a bit, Frank pulled his lover into a loose embrace.  It took more effort than it should, but he managed.

          "Frank, what if—?"

          "Don't go there, Stephen," the other man warned.  "Can't live… on what if's."

          "I love you," the blond whispered.

          "Love you… too."  Frank weakly caressed Connor's back.  "Now, get out of here… before we get… any sappier."

          "Get some rest," Stephen advised, kissing his lover's fever-hot forehead.  "I'll check in on you later."

          Powell didn't need the order, he was already half-asleep.

          Before heading out the door, Connor glanced back at the sleeping man once more.  Then, swallowing the lump in his throat, he quietly walked out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, 0804 Hours**

 

          "Mr. Larabee, agents, please, take a seat," Natalie said, motioning to the large conference table nearly filling the meeting room at the lab.  Walking around to an overhead projector positioned at one end of the oval table, she turned on the motor and the light, waiting for the agents to get settled before she continued.

          Chris studied the woman as he waited for his men, Connor, and a younger man he hadn't met before to take their seats.  Dr. Natalie Durant was petite, with long, dark-blonde hair and caring eyes.  She was also efficient and somewhat clipped in her speech.

          Opening a file folder, Durant pulled out a plastic sheet and laid it on the glass plate, casting the image onto the screen behind her.  "This is the primary organism we're dealing with," she began.  "I've never seen anything like it before, and neither has anyone at the NIH or the CDC.  Our initial analysis was correct; it's a genetically constructed organism."

          "What kind of organism?" Chris asked, knowing he wasn't up to a long-winded presentation that was full of medical or scientific jargon.

          "That's the interesting part," she replied.  "It appears to be a tri-hybrid, exhibiting properties of three other engineered organisms.  However, we have managed to nail down some of the details.  It's a virus, on the outside, anyway.  But the genetic makeup on the inside looks more like _yersinia pestis_.  However, there's enough viral RNA present as well to make me nervous."

          "But I thought you said earlier that the preliminary tests you ran pointed to an engineered staphylococcus," Nathan said, suddenly confused.

          "I know," Durant replied, pulling the overhead off and replacing it with another.  "Our work supports that as well.  That's what tipped us off to this being a recombined organism."  She switched the plates.  "This is the results of one electrophoresis we ran."

          "It matches what we'd expect to see for a staph organism," Dr. Connor confirmed.

          Durant pulled that overhead off and slid on a third.  "But this is the same sample fifteen hours later."

          "But that's impossible, right?" Nathan asked, shaking his head and wondering if he was remembering his classes correctly.

          Larabee gave Jackson an appraising look.  "Why?  I don't understand."

          "Because that's what we expect to see if it was a gram-negative rod bacteria," Dr. Connor explained.

          "Exactly."  Durant put another overhead on.  "And this indicates the presence of a retrovirus…"  Another overhead.  "…and this one _yersinia pestis_ , but _all_ of these results came from the _same_ sample."  Dr. Durant leaned forward, resting her palms on the smooth, blond wood tabletop.  "The only difference is time."

          "If the genetic structure's an unstable recombination, that might explain the results," the young man sitting next to Dr. Connor said.

          "Gentlemen," Connor said, realizing that the agents hadn't met the man before now, "this is Dr. Miles McCabe, another member of my team."

          "This thing is completely unpredictable," Miles added.  "Every sample we've run – from each of the patients we have – progresses at a different rate of recombination, and every sample is uniquely sensitive to changes in the external environmental chemistry.  There's only one common feature."

          "I don't think I want to hear this," Nathan said, frowning and shaking his head.

          "What?" Chris prompted.

          "None of the samples are susceptible to standard antibiotic regimes of treatment," Dr. McCabe concluded.

          Jackson slumped back in his chair.  "That's just great."

          "What does this all _mean?_ " Chris asked, trying not to sound angry, but he could remember what Vin had looked like when he'd seen him less than an hour ago, Tanner's face damp with sweat, the man wheezing slightly with each breath.  "Where do we go from here?"

          "It means that we don't have an effective method of treatment at this time," Dr. Durant explained.

          "How many people are going to get sick?" JD asked, looking at the doctors.

          "We don't know.  There's still one mouse unaccounted for," Dr. Durant said.

          "Although it's probably dead by now," Connor added.

          "We've found fourteen active cases, so far," Connor told them.

          "Seventeen," Dr. McCabe corrected him, adding, "and of that group, we've already seen a mortality rate of a third."

          "People have already died?" Buck asked, looking more than a little worried.

          McCabe nodded.

          "Pneumonia is the official cause of death that's being listed on the death certificates," Dr. Durant said, "but the autopsies are turning up organisms that are related to these."  She tapped the overhead.

          "Will more people get sick?" Nathan asked.

          "We don't think so," Connor replied.  "All of the cases so far were exposed in Tolson's Café Monday evening."

          "So what do we do?" Chris demanded again.

          "As I see it, there are two possible approaches," Durant said, turning off the overhead light and taking a seat at the table.  "We can try to find something that will target the external biology of the organism – something we might be able to use as an inhibitor, or a vaccine – or we look for specific drugs to attack each of the variants we find."

          "Which approach do you think would be best overall?" Larabee asked, wishing he understood more of what the scientists were saying.

          "Targeting the external molecular structure," McCabe said.  "That would give us the best chance at finding a way to inoculate people against this, or treat it.  And the external structure is the only constant we've seen across the samples."

          Durant nodded.  It was what she had concluded, too, but she felt compelled to toss out as many possibilities as she could.  "If this spreads, or the mutations continue at the same rate we've been seeing, God only knows what we could be dealing with several weeks down the road.  We have to stop this thing, now, before it has a chance to mutate to the extent that we see an external structural shift, or it starts to spread human to human, which is something we haven't seen so far."

          Connor gave a curt nod.  "Then that's the way we'll proceed."

          "Wait," Nathan interrupted.  "I agree that you have to develop this line of research, immediately, but what about those who are already infected, don't you have to take it case by case, too?  I mean, it sounds like it's the organism, _not_ the individual infected, that's critical in determining mortality."

          "Translation?" Larabee requested curtly.

          "It doesn't matter what kind of shape the victim's in," Connor supplied curtly.  "If the organism mutates in a particularly deleterious direction, they'll die."

          Durant nodded.  "Of the seventeen cases we've identified, five have already died."  She glanced down at an open file folder.  "Seven have relatively mild symptoms.  The mutations they're dealing with are not particularly dangerous; they essentially have a nasty case of the flu.  Not fun, but not deadly.  But we're looking at five cases where I suspect we're going to see some deaths if we can't find something to target the specific mutations."

          "Vin?" Chris asked sharply.

          "In that last category," Dr. McCabe replied, "just like our team member, and the seventeen-year-old waitress from the café."   He avoided looking at Connor.

          "My God," Josiah breathed, running his hand over his graying hair.  "Can it be done in time?"

          "I hope so," Dr. Durant replied.  "We're working around the clock on the individual cases we think are the most critical."

          "The problem is, we don't really know what the side-effects are going to be," McCabe added, deciding that these men needed to know what their friend was facing.  "We can't treat these people in hopes of heading off something, because we have no idea where the mutations will eventually lead.  We have to wait and treat what comes up, and, in a couple of cases, these things are churning out toxins we haven't been able to identify yet.  We have no way of predicting what the results of exposure will be until it manifests in the patients, and by then it could be too late."

          "I'm sure you understand, but the emphasis has to be on finding a way to combat this thing across the population," Dr. Connor said.

          "But we don't want to sacrifice those people who've already been exposed," Durant put in.  "There haven't been any new cases reported in the past twelve hours, although there are still two patrons unaccounted for, so we're hoping there won't be any additional cases beyond those two missing men."

          One of the security guards stepped into the room, saying, "Agent Larabee, we have a report of a suspicious vehicle outside, sir."

          The ATF agents rose from the table, following the man out, Larabee already issuing orders as he went.  The three members of the NIH team watched them go.


	12. Chapter 12

**Wednesday, noon**

 

          "Doctor," Larabee said, stepping into the small office Connor had been given to use.

          "Building still secure?" the man asked, looking up from the lab results he had been reviewing.

          "Yeah, most of the threats were coming from a couple of local activists who had decided the lab was recruiting illegal aliens for human experimentation."

          Connor shook his head.  "I seriously doubt it.  That's probably a result of the fact that three of the sick are illegal."

          "Unfortunately, they're the ones who actually tossed the pipe bomb into the parking lot, so stay on your toes when you're outside the building."

          "Will do," Connor replied.

          "How's Vin?" Larabee asked.

          The doctor looked up and sighed softly.  "The organism is producing a toxin that we still haven't been able to identify…  It could trigger any kind of unexpected reaction…  We're keeping a close eye on him, and on the others."

          Larabee's jaw twitched in frustration.  "I heard we lost two more?"

          Connor nodded.  "One of my team was able to locate the last two patrons – two long-haul truck drivers.  They both died late last night."

          "Do you think you can come up with something to fight this thing?"

          "We'll do our best," Connor promised.  "Frank Powell is… one of my best friends…  I know what you're feeling."

          _But he isn't your lover, Doc._ Unable to think of a single thing to say, Chris looked away, nodding.  These people would do everything they could for Vin and the others.  All he could do now was wait… and pray.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, 1303 Hours**

 

          Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning.  Now was not a good time to start a migraine – not that there ever was a good time.  The look in Larabee's eyes as they had talked was eerily familiar.  From what he had picked up from the other ATF agents, Larabee and Tanner were close.

          And if he hadn't heard it, Connor could have seen it for himself.  The level of familiarity between the two reminded him of himself and Frank.  The half-finished sentences, a look or a nod… all indications of two men who had known each other and trusted each other for a long time, just like him and Frank.

          Despite the fact that he and Larabee had gotten off to a bad start, Connor found himself liking the man.  He hoped they could find a solution in time to save Tanner and Frank, as well as the others.

          Knowing it would do little to help him, Connor still downed two Tylenol, then went in search of Natalie.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, 2014 Hours**

 

          "You're sure?" Connor asked, his voice and tight expression clear indications of the stress he was feeling.

          "Believe me, I wish I wasn't," Natalie answered.  "Stephen, you know what this means for him, right?"

          The blond nodded.  He knew all too well.  _Goddamn it, it's not fair!_

          "Do you want me to tell him?"  The epidemiologist rested her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

          It took a moment for the request to sink in, then Connor shook his head emphatically.  "No."  Realizing how abrupt that sounded, Stephen softened it, adding, "But thanks, Nat.  Not that it'll be any easier, but I'd rather be the one to tell him."

          Durant nodded her understanding and left the lab.  Seeing Miles about to enter, she lightly grabbed his arm and steered him away.  "Give him a few minutes," she urged.

          McCabe grimaced.  "Let me guess, he's in one of his moods?"

          Natalie's sad smile never reached her eyes.  "Something like that."

          The younger physician looked puzzled, but complied without question.  He knew better than to cross Stephen Connor when he was in a mood.  Only Powell could get away with that, and he was in no condition to try at this point.

          Thoughts of their sick friend and teammate made Miles decide that maybe Connor had every right to his mood.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 0815 Hours**

 

          Vin sat in the small room he'd been given, reviewing some of the evidence and data other members of the team had collected.  He had moved the single chair in the room over next to the window earlier – away from the small hospital bed – then maneuvered the rolling tray that had been positioned next to the bed over as well.  That gave him the surface space he needed to open the file folders Josiah had dropped off.  He doubted he would find anything the others had missed, but he refused to take chances with the team's security.  Besides, it helped keep him busy and passed the time.

          Rubbing absently at his ever-tightening chest, he closed one file and opened another.  When he reached the end of the small stack, still having not seen anything worth mentioning, he leaned back in the chair and sighed.  At this rate they might never determine who had actually tried to bomb the laboratory Monday morning.  Looking back now, it felt like that had been months ago, but it had only been days.

          He glanced at the dark television sitting in the corner of the room, but didn't feel like watching the news anymore.  That just left…

          He sighed heavily, reached for the pad of paper and the pen he'd asked Dr. Connor for when the doctor had dropped in to check on him earlier, then began to write.  He'd only trust the overall safety of Team Seven to someone he knew and respected.  If Benny Ray or Alex weren't available… well, Travis would just have to pull a few strings and get one of the two men reassigned to the ATF.  No one else would do.

          He coughed, the shock sending a sharp, tearing pain slicing through his chest and shoulders.  It was getting worse, just like the doc had warned him it would.

          Dr. Connor hadn't pulled any punches when he'd talked to Vin privately that morning.  The damn bug he'd caught was churning out some kind of toxin and, sooner or later, it would kill him if they couldn't find a way to destroy the damn thing.

          And things weren't going all that well for the NIH team – something about mutations and a bunch of other scientific gobbledygook he couldn't follow, but he'd gotten the meaning clear enough:  In all likelihood, he was going to die.

          He read over what he'd written and then signed the bottom of the page.  Everything he could do to ensure the survival and continued smooth operation of Team Seven had been accomplished.  That just left the personal…

          He folded the first page back and starting writing again.  It took him the better part of an hour before he was finished, but then he leaned back and sighed softly.  He'd still have to have a few talks before he got too sick and the doctors forced him into the bed, probably for good.

          He took a sip from the cup of juice setting next to him on the rolling table and then re-read his words, making a few changes here and there and then signing it at the end, too.

          A sudden chill wrapped around Vin's shoulders and he laid the pen aside.  He wasn't a superstitious man, but completing a will did give you a sense of your mortality, and the old saying about ghosts walking over graves echoed in the back of his mind.

          Except for the… human elements, he was ready now, just in case…  And once that was taken care of…  He huffed out a breath and shook his head, then leaned back in his chair and let his eyes drop closed.  Damn, but this was going to be hard and he was tired, more tired than he let on around the others.  But he knew he had to say goodbye to them – to each one of them.  They were his friends, his brothers… his family.  But that didn't mean he was looking forward to it, not in the slightest.  All in all, he figured the conversations might just be among the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life.

          The door cracked open and the sniper's eyes opened and he sat forward again to meet whatever was coming next.

          "Agent Tanner?" Dr. Connor called as he entered, drawing the door shut behind him but not closing it completely.  "Are you okay?"

          "Yeah, just tired."

          "I have some news."

          Vin studied the man for a moment.  "Don't look like it's good news, Doc."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 0902 Hours**

 

          "Hey, how're you doing?"  Natalie knew the question was stupid.  You didn't have to be a doctor to see that Frank was rapidly slipping downhill.

          "Been… better" Powell wheezed.

          Durant nodded sympathetically.

          "Nat…"  Frank beckoned his friend closer.  "Need… a favor."

          "Of course.  Name it."

          "If this goes wrong—"

          "No."  Natalie wouldn't hear it.  "Don't say that, Frank.  We're not there yet."

          "You think… I can't tell?" Frank wheezed.  Grasping her hand, he held it tightly.  "Please, Nat… listen."

          She nodded.  "Okay."

          "Help… Stephen."

          Natalie didn't pretend to misunderstand.  She knew how hard Stephen would be hit by Frank's death.  Losing his sister had fueled his desire to become a doctor.  But losing his lover?  That might break him.

          "I'll do what I can, Frank," she promised.  "Now, I want you to promise me you'll stick around as long as possible.  You know how much we like pulling rabbits out of hats around here."

          He chuckled, wincing as it turned to a racking cough.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**At the same time**

 

          Chris paused outside the door to Vin's room when he heard the sniper say, "Don't look like it's good news, Doc."

          He swallowed hard, his body refusing to move as he continued to listen.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The NIH doctor walked over and leaned back against the wall.  "No, I'm afraid it isn't.  We've finally got a handle on the toxin."

          "Isn't that good?"

          "Yes and no.  We still don't know how to stop the virus…  The toxin…"  Connor sighed heavily and Vin realized that this wasn't easy for the man.  Like Chris, he was probably used to winning most the fights he ended up in, and this one looked to be one that was going to defeat him.  "Well, to cut to the chase, eventually the part of your brain that controls your autonomic breathing is going to fail."

          Vin's eyebrows climbed slightly.  "Y' mean it won't be like pneumonia, then, with fluid buildin' up in m' lungs?"

          "No," Connor said.  "There will be some fluid buildup, but it'll gradually become harder and harder to breathe as the connection between the brain and the lungs is blocked or broken down – we're unsure which it is right now – you'll pass out from the lack of oxygen and–"

          "Die," Vin finished for him, glancing down at his handwritten will.  "Funny," he said quietly.

          "What's that?"

          "Sounds more peaceful than the majority 'a ways I imagined I'd go out."  He gave the doctor a thin smile.  "Sorry.  Guess I'm still not used t' the idea."

          "It's not easy to hear, or get used to," Connor agreed, his expression sympathetic.  "I understand.  And we're not giving up.  My best friend is lying in the room next door, and he's facing the same thing you are.  We're going to do everything we can to make sure you both survive this.  I give you my word on that."

          "I know y' are," Vin said with a nod.  "What kind 'a time are we lookin' at?"

          Connor sighed again and folded his arms across his chest.  He didn't want to explain the details, but he knew he didn't really have a choice.  Vin, like Frank, deserved to know the truth of what he was facing, which was why he'd decided to break the bad news to Tanner first.  Because, quite honestly, he wasn't sure he could do the same for Frank.  But this was his job, and by telling Vin he was being forced to face Frank's future prognosis as well, but that didn't sit well with him.  He ground his teeth together and steeled himself before he said, "At the current rate of replication, we're looking at the toxin reaching a critical level in seventy-two hours or so.  If we can come up with something that retards that rate, we'll be able to buy a little more time."

          "When do I need t' get my goodbyes said by?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          That simple question struck Chris like a blow from a baseball bat.  He couldn't be hearing this.  Vin couldn't die.  But the doctor's next words told him it was an all-too-real possibility.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "My best guess," Connor replied, adding quickly, "and that's all it is at this point, would be that you'll need to begin supplemental oxygen sometime in the next twenty-four hours.  It'll get progressively worse from that point on."

          Vin nodded.  "Guess I'll need to get things wrapped up today then."

          Connor nodded.  He was sure Frank would tell him basically the same thing.  "I'm, uh, going to get back to the lab.  Don't give away the family fortune just yet, though, okay?  We've got a handle on the toxin now, and you can count that as a win for our side.  All we need is a way to inhibit it, or its action."

          The smile was genuine as Vin stood and accompanied Connor to the door.  "Hell, Doc, I don't own anything worth givin' away, but I'll keep what I've got – for a little while, anyway.  Oh, and tell Dr. McCabe and that pretty lady doctor if they don't get some rest pretty soon they aren't gonna be able t' help anyone.  You, either."

          That prompted a small smile from Connor.  "We'll rest when we get this thing figured out.  Right now, I want _you_ to get some rest, okay?"

          Vin chuffed out a weak laugh.  "Hell, Doc, I'll rest when I'm dead."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          _When I'm dead…_   Chris opened his mouth, ready to tell Vin he was wrong, that he _wasn't_ going to die, that he needed to get his goddamn ass into that goddamn bed and do whatever the goddamn doctors told him to do, but he couldn't.

          He couldn't speak.  He could barely breathe.

          His eyes were beginning to sting, and he turned and hurried away as the door began to open.

          He couldn't do this again…  He just couldn't.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Connor winced at the words.

          "Sorry," Vin apologized, wondering why he didn't feel more afraid than he did.  It wasn't like he thought they would find a way to fight this thing in time, he didn't.  But he also knew he wouldn't be dying alone.  Chris and the others would be there for him, and that gave him more courage than he'd ever expected.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thursday, 1010 Hours**

 

          Connor had hoped that talking to Vin Tanner would serve as warm-up to him telling Frank the news, thereby making it easier.  He realized now that he should have known that was all just a delusion.  It was never easy to tell a stranger they were likely to die.  How much more difficult was it going to be to tell your lover?

          The blond let out a heavy sigh, reflecting that Tanner even reminded him of Frank, what with his rebellious, stubborn manner.  If they were alike in other ways as well, Agent Larabee had his hands full.

          Stephen concentrated on bringing the professional to the foreground and forcing the lover aside for now.  He knew he had to focus if he was going to have this talk.

          Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Connor pushed open the door to Frank's room.

          "Hey," Powell greeted with a half-hearted wave.

          "Hey, yourself.  How are you doing?"  Connor checked the man's vitals, noting with concern that his pulse rate and blood pressure were both up from the last time.

          That it was Dr. Stephen Connor who had entered the room and not Stephen the lover was not lost on Frank.  He frowned.  "'M okay, but you look like you have news."  Long years of knowing Stephen gave Frank an edge in reading the man's expressions and mannerisms.  "And, if I had to guess, I'd say it's not good."

          Connor nodded.  "You're right."  Grabbing one of the chairs, he brought it closer to the bed and sat down.  "We've, uh, finally got a handle on the toxin."

          Frank processed this, trying to reason through what Stephen wasn't saying.  "But not the virus, I take it."

          The blond shook his head.  "No.  But there's more—"  _God, I don't know if I can do this!_ Tears pricked at Stephen's eyes.

          "Just give it to me straight, Stephen," Powell demanded.  "Anything has to be better than just layin' here imagining what this thing is going to do to me.  What…?  I'm going to grow fur and a long tail with a sudden and uncontrollable need for cheese in my diet?"

          Connor sputtered with laughter.  Trust Frank.  Then he remembered why he was here and he sobered.  "No.  I wish it were that… easy," Stephen said.  "The toxin will eventually affect that part of your brain that controls autonomic breathing and cause it to fail."

          "Damn," Frank whispered.  "So basically we'll suffocate."

          "Yes."  Connor wasn't sure that it was better or worse that Frank remembered his biology classes.

          "So, uh…"  Powell cleared his throat.  "What's the time frame?"

          Stephen had to blink back tears again before he could answer.  This was harder and easier than he'd expected.  Frank had been through something similar before.  That he had to do so again ate at Connor.

          "Our projections indicate that the toxin will reach critical levels in seventy-two hours.  We're working on something to buy us some time, but nothing's sure yet."  Reaching out, he took Frank's hand in his, clasping it tightly.  "You know we're putting everything we have into this, don't you?"

          Frank nodded.  "Yeah, I know, just make sure you take care of yourself."

          "Frank—"

          "There's things I need to take care of.  The girls—"  It was Powell's turn to blink back tears now.  "How long—?"

          A sense of déjà vu hit Connor and it took him a few moments before he could answer.  "My guess is that you'll need supplemental oxygen within twenty-four hours.  After that—"  He shook his head, unable to continue.

          Frank nodded.  Using their still-joined hands, he brought Connor closer to him, pulling the blond down into a gentle kiss.

          "I love you, Stephen," he whispered, hugging his lover.  "And no matter what happens, I always will.  Don't blame yourself."

          "Love you," Connor choked out, holding on as if his life depended on it.  After several long moments he eased back out of the embrace.  "I'd better get back to the lab.  Call me if you need anything."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A short while later**

 

          Watching the elevator doors slide closed, Dr. Stephen Connor let his building frustration bubble up and slammed the edge of his fist against the wall of the car.  It wasn't fair.  He'd watched Natalie and Miles working like maniacs the past three days.  Not to mention Larabee, who was wearing a rut into the floor between his borrowed command center and the lab.  And, despite the brave masks they were all wearing, they all knew the truth:  their friends were dying faster than they could find answers to stop it.

          Reaching the basement, Stephen exited and headed back to Lab 3 where Natalie still sat hunched over her microscope.  Miles tapped away on a borrowed computer that was connected to the NIH's machines via a secure line.

          Miles looked up as Connor entered.  "Stephen, great.  I'm going to go check in on the patients while this all downloads."

          Connor nodded and watched as the younger man brushed past him, disappearing out the door.

          When McCabe was gone, he walked up behind Natalie and rested his hands on her shoulders.  He could feel the tension knotting her muscles and gently worked his fingers into the hard cords.

          She sat up straighter and let her eyes drop closed.  "That feels good," she said softly.  "I'm so tired."

          "I know, and I'm glad it feels good," he replied with a small smile.  He was still surprised by how quickly they had become friends.  Natalie Durant was bright, caring, dedicated…  He reached around and gave her a hug, feeling her press back against him, her head cocking to the side so she could rest it against his shoulder.  "I talked with Frank and Agent Tanner," he said softly.

          "And?" she whispered.

          "They understood… said they'd get things wrapped up today, just in case.  They're both so damn practical that I wanted to…"  He let her go and stepped around to take a seat on the stool next to hers.  "How's it going?" he asked, needing to change the subject.

          Straightening, she rubbed her eyes and shook her head.  "The same.  I haven't found anything that effectively inhibits the toxin, and the overall growth-rates are still erratic."

          "We'll find something," he reassured her, hoping it came out as positive as he'd wanted it to.  Both men's chances were slim, and they all knew it, but they had to believe there was a reason to keep going like this.  "Is the NIH group making any progress on deciphering the organism's genetic components?"

          "I don't think it's going to come soon enough," Durant said, her eyes filling with tears.  "Stephen, what are we going to do?  Frank…"  She trailed off, shaking her head slightly.

          "I don't know," Stephen replied softly, reaching out to take her hands in his.  "We just keep working, and hope…  Hope we can force a breakthrough in time."

          "Agent Jackson was down here a few minutes ago…  The ATF team, they're all… close, it seems."

          "Like us," Dr. Connor replied with a nod.

          "I don't want either of us to lose them.  Not now.  Not like this."

          Connor nodded.  "Then it's time for us to get back to work."  He stood.  "But Agent Tanner told me to tell you and Miles not to overdo it.  That it wasn't going to help Frank, or him."

          She nodded.  "He's very sweet.  I'll try and get a nap after I've finished this series."

          "All right," Connor said, heading for his own workspace.  "I'm going to hold you to that."  He knew he wouldn't sleep until this was over, one way or the other.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1005 Hours**

 

          After Dr. Connor left, Vin slumped back in his chair, but he knew he was too tired to stay there.  Grabbing his half-finished juice, he pushed the rolling table back over to the bed and lay down, using the controls to raise the head so he could sit up.  Leaning over, he pulled the rolling table closer, then picked up his pen and jotted down a list of the people he needed to talk to or call.

          He snorted to himself at the action.  Like he didn't know who he needed to talk to?  Hell, they were almost all right here… somewhere.

          Maybe he ought to start with the phone calls…

          "No time like the present," he muttered to himself as he picked up his cell phone off the nightstand next to the bed and punched in the number to the ATF offices.  "Hi, Lynn," he said when their admin answered, "it's Vin.  I have some paperwork that needs t' be picked up and processed ASAP."

          _"I'll send someone right over,"_ she replied.  _"And…  Well, we're all praying for you, Vin."_

          "Thanks, I appreciate it, but these docs are pretty smart, they'll come up with somethin'."

          _"We all hope so.  And I'll send someone over right away."_

          "Thanks," Vin said again.  He ended the call and sagged back against his pillows, his strength failing him.

          He glanced at the clock on the wall, watching as the seconds ticked off, marveling at how fast they sped past.  Then he really noticed the time.  Where were the others?  Where was Chris?  He'd said he would stop in this morning…

          But then again, maybe he ought to be glad no one was there with him.  He knew it bugged the others to see him like this, and he couldn't blame them.  It bothered him, too.

          God, but he hated just laying here, waiting to die.

          This wasn't at all how he'd imagined it would be.  Going out in a burst of gunfire?  Sure.  Caught in an explosion?  Maybe.  Car accident?  Probable, given the way people were driving these days.

          Hell, even in a neighborhood drive by, or a robbery, but not from some damn engineered plague that his own government had let get out to kill him.  That just wasn't right…  Not right at all.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1030 Hours**

 

          Watching the door close behind his lover, Frank considered his situation.  It wasn't the first time he had stared his own mortality in the face; far from it.  But damn it… a mouse?

          He sighed, wincing as it turned into a hacking cough.  Once he could get his breath under control he reached for his cell phone and dialed Eva's number.  There were things he needed to finalize, and she could help with some of them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1257 Hours**

 

          Buck walked into the lab's cafeteria and headed directly for the coffee pots.  After a cup was corralled, he perused the offerings and settled on cereal.  Even the government couldn't botch Fruit Loops.  Locating a bowl, a spoon, and two cartons of milk, he took three boxes of the cereal, piled it all on a tray, and headed over to where Chris sat, staring dejectedly into his half-full coffee cup.

          "Hey, stud, this where you've been hiding?"

          Chris looked up, started by the interruption.  "Something wrong?"

          Buck shook his head as he arranged his food on the table and slid the empty tray onto a vacant table next to them.

          Larabee's expression hardened as he watched the man's actions.

          "Chris, what's wrong?"

          "Nothing."

          "Well, I gotta tell ya, that's the most serious 'nothing' I've seen in a long, long time."  He poured the first small box of cereal into the bowl and added some milk.

          Green eyes shifted from the bowl to his friend.  Buck could always pull him out of the pits of self-pity Chris built for himself.  "Sorry," he said.  "I just wish there was something, _anything,_ I could do to help Vin…  I hate feeling so damn useless."

          Munching on the breakfast cereal, Buck argued, "You're not useless, Chris.  This is just a… specialized problem.  Not like any of us can do anything for Vin.  But at least we're keeping the facility safe, making sure the docs can concentrate on what they need to do, right?"

          "Yeah, I know," Larabee replied tiredly.  "But Christ, Buck, it just isn't right, you know?  Vin brought down by a goddamn mouse?"

          "You been in to see him this morning?"

          Larabee pushed his cup away.  "I stopped by, but he was… busy."

          Finishing off the last of the cereal from the first box, Buck took a sip of his coffee and grimaced.  It wasn't even close to what could reasonably be called tolerable.  "Oh?"

          Chris shrugged.  "I could've stayed, but…"

          "He wanted to be alone?"

          "I— I don't know…"  Larabee shook his head.  "It hurt, Buck," he said, his eyes searching the ladies' man's for understanding.  "It hurt to be there, listening to it getting harder and harder for him to breathe…"  He trailed off, reaching out and taking the cup again, spinning it around several times.  "Am I being selfish?"

          Buck's lips compressed as he thought for a moment.  "No, I don't think so.  It's not easy for any of us, Chris.  Guess we've all gotten attached to that… scruffy Texan."  He slid his coffee over next to Larabee's once again abandoned cup.  "It's not the way any of us expected him to die."

          "And we're writing him off, too, aren't we?"

          "No…  Maybe…  Come on, Chris, it's just natural.  It hurts, and no one likes pain, but I know we're all busting our backsides to make sure those NIH guys can find a cure in time.  We're not letting him go without a fight, I can promise you that much.  And you better not either.  He needs you; you know he does."

          "Yeah…  And you're right," Larabee said, his voice cut with determination.  "We're not gonna give up on him."  He pushed his chair back and stood.  "I'm going to go talk with Vin."

          Buck nodded, a small, sad smile on his lips as he watched Larabee leave.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1330 Hours**

 

          Eva knocked on the door and when there was no answer, she pushed it open and peered inside.

          "Frank?"

          The Black man roused.  "Hey, Eva," he greeted weakly.

          "I'm sorry to wake you," the press liaison apologized, "but you said—"

          "It's okay," Frank waved aside the apology, sitting up and adjusting the bed position.  "Might not be a better time, y'know?"

          The young woman nodded uneasily.  It was disconcerting seeing Frank like this.  It reminded her of their time in Greenland when he had battled the after-effects of the Klebsiella bacteria.

          "You said there was some paperwork that you wanted me to take care of?" she asked.

          "Yeah."  Pulling the rolling tray closer, Frank picked up a folder and handed it over.  "There's letters to my girls in there, information on my accounts."  Picking a key ring off the tray he handed it over.  "There's also directions on where to find my lockbox at home.  The key is on this ring along with the one for my safe deposit box at the bank."  He indicated the smaller, attached ring which held two small keys.

          "Oh, Frank—"  Eva's eyes misted over.

          "Hey, hey… none of that," he admonished.  "It's not over yet, y'know.  I'm just making sure that everything's taken care of in case it does get to that point, okay?"

          "Yeah."  She nodded, wiping the tears away.

          "You've been a good friend, Eva," he said.  "I won't say this is good-bye, but if it is, take care of yourself, okay?"

          "It's not good-bye," Eva affirmed.  "I'll see you later, okay?  And I'll return these papers and your keys then, too."

          Frank grinned wearily.  "That's my Eva."

          Knowing she would break down if she stayed any longer, Eva waved and headed for the door.  She was at least able to make it out to the hallway before losing her composure.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**At the same time**

 

          Vin looked up when a knock sounded on his closed door.  "Yeah," he called.

          Nathan stepped in, closing the door behind him.  "You have some paperwork to send back to the office?"

          Vin nodded to the file folders and the few sheets of paper lying on top, folded in half to conceal the contents.

          Nathan reached out and took them.  "How're you feelin'?" he asked.

          "To tell you the truth… lousy."

          The man eased uncomfortably into the empty chair.  "Something wrong, Vin?"

          Tanner managed a small grin.  "You know damn well what's wrong."

          Jackson nodded sadly.  Oh, yeah, he knew.

          "Look, I don't know how t' explain this—"

          "It's bad, isn't it."  It wasn't a question.

          Vin nodded once.  "Looks like m' luck's finally run out."

          Nathan glanced away, absently rubbing one thumb under his watchband.  "Never thought it'd happen… not to you, anyway."

          Vin snorted.  "Thought y' said I was the one Ezra had at even money t' be the first t' check out."

          Nathan looked back, meeting his friend's gaze.  "You know I hate that stupid pool."

          "Yeah, I know, but it helps… pass the time."

          "Bullshit," Jackson replied, his gaze returning to the floor.  "Hell, Vin, it isn't any easier for me to think about one of you getting killed out there."

          "I know…  Damn it," Vin said, pushing himself up a little farther in his bed.  "Guess that's the point, though, ain't it?  It was supposed to be _out there_.  It was supposed to mean something."

          Nathan looked up at the man, the friend, he'd known for five years now.  He'd watched Tanner grow into one of the best agents he'd ever known.  And Vin was right, a man like him was supposed to go out in the middle of a firefight, saving his team…  The Black man's head bobbed slightly.  "Yeah, guess I'd have to say we all feel like that.  But you can't give up yet," he added quietly, afraid if he spoke any louder his voice might catch on the lump in his throat.

          "Ain't givin' up," Vin said, his conviction clear in his voice.  "Ain't never gave up, 'n' I sure as hell ain't gonna start now."

          Tanner stuck out his hand and Nathan stood to take it in his.  They shook, and the former medic took a step back.  "You're gonna kick this thing, y'hear me?"

          Vin grinned slightly.  "Yeah, I hear y'… but if I can't…"

          "Then I guess this is good-bye," Nathan finished for him.

          "Thanks," Vin said, his eyes getting a little watery.  "Really enjoyed workin' with y', Nate."

          "Same here, Vin," Nathan replied, then he leaned forward, giving the man a brief hug before he took the files and headed for the door, exiting without looking back and closing it behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thursday, 1410 Hours**

 

          The next knock he heard was unexpected, and Vin looked up from where he was leaning over on the rolling table, resting his head on his folded arms.  He'd made his peace with dying and decided on what he wanted when it came to his funeral, which he'd written down and then gave to Josiah, who he knew would see to it his wishes were carried out.

That had also given him a chance to make his peace with the big man.  Josiah had ended the conversation with a big, heartfelt hug that had left him feeling better than he had in a day.

          In fact, he'd felt good enough to walk out and talked briefly to the NIH scientists, to thank them for all they were doing to try and save him.

          But now he was tired, aching, and his friends were hurting, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

          It was also getting harder and harder to breathe.  "Who is it?" he called as best he could.

          "It's me, Vin."

          "Come on in," he replied, wishing he could put off this talk with Chris, but there was little reason to postpone it.  He'd have to talk to the rest of them, and soon, too.  Still, this one would be particularly difficult since he had to exact a promise from the man he'd come to call his best friend, his brother, and his lover.  One he knew the man wasn't going to want to make.

          Larabee entered the room and closed the door behind him.  Taking the chair, he moved it closer to Vin's bed and sat down.  "You look terrible," he said, trying to smile.

          "Feel terrible," Vin replied honestly, not finding any reason to keep up the front any longer.

          "Maybe you should rest then," Chris suggested, feeling the palms of his hands getting moist.  He forced the fear back as he waited for the sniper's reply, part of him wanting the man to spare him this.

          Tanner nodded.  "Seems like a waste 'a the time I got left, y' know?"

          Chris pressed back against the chair, suddenly cold all over.  If Vin was talking like this he was faring much worse than he looked, and that was bad.  "Vin…" he said, trailing off.

          "Hell, Chris, I know this ain't easy on any 'a ya… 'pecially you."

          Larabee shook his head, unable to speak.

          "'M sorry 'bout that, but I got t' ask y'… when m' replacement gets here, give the man a chance, okay?"

          Larabee folded his arms across his chest and scowled.  Then he snorted and shook his head.  "Vin, we don't need a replacement.  You'll—"

          "Chris, y' know as well as I do that 'm most likely gonna die."  There, it was said.  And neither man could deny it.

          Chris clamped his mouth shut, his jaw grinding.  Vin was right; he was probably going to lie right there in that bed and die.  "I'll do my best," he promised, but he knew it was a lie.  If Vin died, so did Team Seven.  None of them would have the heart to go on without him.  He knew for a fact he couldn't.  In fact, he didn't honestly think he could lose Vin and survive…  It was too much.  God, or fate, or whatever it was out there pulling the puppet strings had taken too much from him; he just didn't have anymore to give.

          "Thanks," Vin said, his mouth tipping into a grin.  "Don't know who I feel sorriest for, though, t' tell y' the truth."

          The jolt of annoyance forced Chris back into the moment.  His eyes twinkled slightly and a thin grin forced its way onto his face, but it faded just as swiftly when the sniper grew serious again.

          "Chris, have t' ask y' another favor…"

          "Name it," he replied softly, hoping the growing lump in his throat didn't choke him to death where he sat.  He watched as Vin fought for a breath and stood.  He reached out, his hand closing over Tanner's.

          "When it gets… t' the point where there's… no hope—"

          "Vin—"

          "Let me finish, damn it," Vin said, blue eyes locking on Larabee's green, the intensity of the man's stare silencing the blond.  "When that happens… I want y' t' take me outside…  Take me someplace away from… labs 'n' hospitals 'n' cities 'n' cars…  I don't want t' die… stuck in a damn… sickroom."

          Chris hesitated, wondering if he could actually carry out the request.  To take the man out of the hospital meant he'd have to accept the fact that Vin Tanner was dying, that they couldn't help him, that he'd lost someone else he loved…

          "I'll try," he whispered, then drew a deep breath and said more forcefully, "but _not_ until we've exhausted every possible option.  I know we can beat this.  We have to."

          "'Kay," Vin said with a nod, knowing he was asking a hell of a lot from the man, and he'd gotten what he needed.  "I'll know when… 'n'… so will you."

          A knock interrupted the two men and Vin called, "Come."

          A nurse opened the door, noting the angry, frustrated look on the blond's face as he stood at Vin's bedside.  "I'll be back in a couple of minutes," she said, ducking back out.

          Chris sighed, all the words he'd managed to claw together in his mind scattered once again.  He looked back at Vin and all he could think to say was, "Dr. Durant wanted me to tell you she'd be coming for more blood samples.  Guess that's what the nurse is here for."

          "Great," Vin growled.  "Already feels like… I been… chewed on by vampires."

          Larabee reached out and patted Tanner's shoulder sympathetically.  "Could be worse."

          "Oh?"

          "She could be asking for—"

          "Don't even say it," Vin managed, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.  It was quickly replaced with relief, and Chris realized they had returned to "normal" for a moment.  But it was just for a moment.  The nurse knocked and entered this time, pushing a cart in front of her.

          "Can y' stay?" Vin asked quietly, a touch of fear creeping into his eyes.

          "Yeah, I can stay," Chris replied.  And he stood there, keeping his hold on Vin's hand while the woman took her samples.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1616 Hours**

 

          With a sigh Vin pressed the button on the television remote, scanning through the cable stations for a third time, then cut the power and slid the control onto the bedside table.  He hated inactivity.  He hated hospitals – or labs, or whatever the hell this place was.  He hated needles, and being poked, prodded, pricked, palpated, and pressed for information about how he felt.

          He felt lousy, and anyone with eyes could see that just fine, all by themselves.  He was wheezing, his chest hurt, his body ached, and he was feverish when he wasn't enjoying a nasty case of the chills.  To top it all off, a persistent nausea made it impossible for him to drink anything hot, which seemed to be the only thing anyone had found that helped the constriction in his chest.

          JD had come by earlier to cheer him up, and they had ended up talking for three hours.  It was the younger man's way of saying good-bye, and Vin appreciated the casual but heartfelt approach.  Buck had finally called, asking JD to come down to the command center to look at some data they had on their latest round of suspects.

          They shook hands, and JD started out, saying, "Hang in there, Vin.  If anyone can work miracles, it's this team."

          That had been over two hours ago.  He expected somebody to drop by and give him an update on what was happening, but they were no doubt too busy.  Still, despite his best efforts, he was annoyed.  He didn't want to be alone.

          And that was a new feeling…  And it scared him.  He pulled the blanket up farther, sensing a chill begin.  Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the trembling, cold and ache that squeezed through his bones.  The whisk of the door opening cracked his eyes back open.

          Dr. McCabe gave him an assessing once over and headed straight for the bed.  "Vin?"

          "I'm… o-okay," he said through chattering teeth.  "J-just… c-c-chills… c-c-cold."

          Reaching to the foot of the bed, the doctor pulled up a second blanket, tucking it in around him.

          "T-thanks…"

          "No problem," he said, reaching out and pressing his hand to Tanner's cheek.  "Your fever's still up."

          Vin nodded.

          "Does it feel like it's getting worse?"

          "Yeah," was the blunt but honest reply.

          McCabe looked away, his lips pressing together in frustration.  "They told you we've isolated the toxin, right?"

          Vin nodded again.

          "Well, Dr. Durant has come up with several possible inhibitors that we're trying out, but nothing's working well enough to test it on you."

          "Why?"

          McCabe stopped, shaking his head in frustration.  "We don't know, especially since the toxin only varies slightly as the organism mutates."

          "You're l-losin' me here, Doc." 

          "We have to be careful, the inhibitors are also toxic in high dosages."

          Vin gave him a wan smile.  "Rock 'n' a h-hard spot, huh?"

          McCabe nodded.  "We'll figure it out.  Dr. Durant is an amazing scientist, and the people at the NIH and CDC are working around the clock."

          "'M countin' on it."

          "The team working on the capsid thinks—"  He stopped, knowing he wasn't making sense to the man.

          "How's everybody doin'?" Vin asked him.

          "We lost the two students," he admitted.  "The woman who works for UPS is hanging in there…"

          "That's g-good.  An' your f-friend?"

          The doctor's expression grew taut.  "He's hanging in there, but it doesn't look good.  We're doing everything we can…"

          "I know that… 'n' so does he."

          He looked down at his watch.  "I have to go, okay?"

          Vin nodded reluctantly.

          "Besides, Agent Larabee's waiting outside."  He reached out and patted Vin's shoulder.  "We're going to beat this."

          "Then y' better get back t' w-work."

          He nodded.  "Hang in there with us."

          "I'll try," was the whispered reply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1709 Hours**

 

          Frank hated the inactivity of being in a hospital bed.  More, he hated the fact that, once again, he was measuring his life in hours.  But, more than anything, he hated that his friends had to watch him slowly die.

          He had survived serving in the Gulf War.  Then he'd gone on to become a police officer, working in Vice in one of the worst neighborhoods in Washington, DC.  The irony of succumbing to a virus carried by a damn mouse, inadvertently let loose by his own government, was not lost on Frank.

          Matter of fact, he had wondered if the escape was really all that unintentional.  He knew Stephen would say it was, if only to play devil's advocate; part of their on-going discussion on government conspiracies.  Stephen was less willing to believe there was such a thing.  Maybe now he'd change his mind.

          Powell stretched, trying to ease the ache in his body, but it did no good.  If anything, it was worsening.  He had tried watching television as a distraction, but there was nothing worth paying attention to.

          He could call Stephen.  The other man wouldn't hesitate to come and keep him company.  But that would take him away from his work.  And more than just Frank's life depended on that.

          With a sigh, Frank turned on the weather channel.  It beat the mind-numbing crap that passed for comedy shows these days.

          As he tried once again to get comfortable, his door opened.  He was tempted to chase the newcomer out, sure it was someone after his blood, or wanting to make him cough and spit again.

          "Hi, Frank."  Dr. Miles McCabe grinned.  "Wasn't sure you'd be awake, but I figured I'd take a chance."

"Hey… Miles."  Powell grinned.  "Connor kick you… o-out of the lab?"

          The younger man rolled his eyes.  "Yeah.  He wanted me to rest.  He should take his own advice – might make him less cranky."  Suddenly remembering the years of long-standing friendship between Powell and Connor, Miles grimaced.  "Uh, sorry, that was out of line."

Frank laughed for the first time in too long.  It was brought up short by a coughing fit that felt like it was tearing his lungs apart. When he finally had it under control, he grinned weakly at his friend.

          "Relax… the man can be… bear.  Don't take… personally."

          "Yeah.  Maybe when I'm old and grey," the younger doctor retorted.  Pulling a deck of cards from his pocket, he grinned.  "I found these in the staff lounge.  You up for a game?"

"Beats… television."  Frank shut off the power and patted the top of the rolling table.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thursday, 1733 Hours**

 

          Vin was grateful for the company, more grateful than he could explain.  With Chris there the time passed a little quicker, but the constant deep ache in his muscles and joints, coupled with an increasing difficulty in breathing chewed away at his strength and his will.

          It was hard, waiting for death, especially after having fought against it so often in the past.  The shadow of death, of his own mortality, had clung to the corners of his life, always present, always visible, if just from the corner of his eye.

          He'd expected it to descend upon him quickly.  A shot, an explosion… an instant of pain and regret, and then the welcoming light he'd heard his grandfather describe.

Not this.

          Not slow.

          Not helpless.

          He could sense his body shutting down, and more pieces of machinery were being added to the collection around his bed, picking up the functions his body was being stripped of.  Oxygen was added, taking the harsh edge off his labored breathing, but it was only a matter of time now, and he knew it.

          He glanced over at Chris, who had dropped off to sleep sometime earlier.  The man's dark blond hair was disheveled, black smudges filling the hollows beneath his eyes.  It hurt to see the man looking like that, but there was nothing he could do about it.

          He wasn't sure Chris would survive this, and that scared him.

          A soft knock sounded in the room, barely discernable over the din of the equipment, but he'd been waiting for it.  "Chris," he called softly.

          "Huh?" Larabee asked, jerking slightly as he catapulted awkwardly into consciousness.

          "Ezra's here," Vin wheezed.  "Get the door, would ya?"  Chris nodded and pushed himself to his feet.  And, after running his fingers through his hair, he started for the door.  "Hey, Chris?"

          "Yeah?" Larabee asked, pausing.

          "Like some time alone with 'im, okay?"

          Larabee nodded, then reached for the knob and pulled.  Ezra waited outside, looking scared and uncertain.  "Vin's waiting for you."

          Ezra tried to smile, but he was afraid, and the attempt failed about halfway through.  Chris stepped out, letting the undercover man enter.

          Stepping into the hall, Chris let the door fall closed behind him as he pressed back against the wall.  Rubbing the moisture from his eyes, he shook his head.  It just wasn't fair…  Why the hell couldn't the doctors _do_ something?

          Hell, they had already managed to locate the man responsible for the pipe-bombing on Monday, and several people had told them _that_ would be impossible.  They had pulled off the impossible, did it on a regular basis, so why couldn't the NIH team do the same?

          He huffed out a deep sigh, knowing he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't help himself.  He wanted them to find a fix for this.  He wanted them to put an end to his nightmare, but they weren't cooperating.

          And there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do to help; none of them could.  They were just stuck acting like high-priced security guards while they waited… and waited… and waited some more.

          He was sick of waiting.  He was sick of seeing Vin hurt.  He was just sick of the whole damn thing.

          Sick and tired…  And maybe it would be better if—

          He stopped the thought before it really formed.

          Pushing away from the wall he stalked off, angry and not knowing who to take it out on.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Fifteen minutes earlier**

 

          Miles closed the door behind him with a sigh.  Frank hadn't even made it through one hand of poker before needing to stop.  It brought home just how weak the man was.

          _Face it, McCabe, unless something changes drastically in the next few hours, you're going to have to watch a good friend die._

          "Miles, you okay?"

          The soft voice pulled him back to the present.  Eva.  Somehow she just always knew to be in the right place at the right time.  Clearing the cobwebs from his brain, he nodded.

          "Is it Frank?" she asked, worriedly.

          "Yeah, but not in the way you think," he answered, holding up a hand to forestall her.  "He's resting as comfortably as possible.  It's just— I don't know…  I've lost patients before, but never a friend, never someone as close to me as Frank."  Miles shook his head, frustrated.

          "I know."  Eva slipped her hand in his, squeezing it tightly.  "Frank's like everybody's big brother… except maybe for Connor."

          She fought to keep her expression neutral.  She had guessed the nature of the relationship between Frank and Connor a long time ago.  The paperwork she had been entrusted with only confirmed it.  But she couldn't tell if Miles really knew, or was just fishing.  Either way, she wasn't about to say.

          "Stephen sent me to look for you," she said.  "He had a feeling you'd be here.  Said to tell you, and I quote:  'If McCabe isn't resting, he'd better go find a bed and crash or else I'll personally sedate him' – end quote."

          McCabe grimaced.  "He'd do it, too."

          Eva grinned.  "Yeah, he would.  So wouldn't it just be easier to go get some rest?"

          Miles glared at her.  "You've been taking mother hen lessons, Eva?"

          "No."  Her expression sobered.  "Just looking out for the friend I _can_ help."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**Thursday, 1741 Hours**

 

          "Hi," Ezra said quietly, his gaze roving over the various pieces of equipment Josiah had warned him would be there now.

          "Hi yourself," Vin whispered, motioning him closer to the bed with a weak flick of his wrist.

          "Dr. Connor has said I cannot stay long."

          "Hell with that," Vin said with a wheeze.  "I'll… spend what… time I got… how I want," he told his friend with a conspiratorial wink, then he patted the mattress.  "Have a seat."

          Ezra eased into the chair sitting beside the bed, careful not to disturb any of the various wires or tubes.  He folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them, picking absently at a cuticle.

          Vin waited for a moment, wondering if Ezra was going to say anything, and when it appeared he wasn't, he reached out his hand and Standish caught it in his.

          "How are you doing?" the undercover man asked, then immediately shook his head.  "Undoubtedly the stupidest question I have ever posed."

          Vin nodded his agreement.

          "Yes, well, you still had no need to agree with me."

          Vin squeezed his hand.  "Thinkin' I might not get better."

          "You mean you're surrendering the fight?" was the brutal rebuttal.

          Vin shook his head and said quietly, "Just runnin' out 'a fight."

          Ezra looked away, chewing his bottom lip, his eyes filling.  "I do not want you to die…  For purely selfish reasons, I might add."

          "Don't want to… either… but we don't usually… get a choice… 'bout these… kinds 'a things."

          "I am well aware—"

          "What?" Vin asked, honestly curious what it was the man had almost said.

          Ezra shook his head and reached up with his free hand to wipe a tear off his cheek.  "It was nothing, just a rail against the fates…"

          Pushing himself farther up in the bed, Vin said, "I wanted t' tell you…  'M gonna miss all 'a ya… a lot."

          Ezra sucked in a breath and nodded again.  "And I will miss you, too, Mr. Tanner," he said, holding tighter to the man's hand.  "I… I—"

          "What?"

          "I wish I could exchange places," he choked out, looking away from the dying man.

          That took Vin completely by surprise, although, when he thought about it, he wasn't sure why it should.  They all felt like that, and if situations were different, and it was one of the others lying in this bed, he knew he'd wish the very same thing.

          "Ain't gone yet," Vin said, trying to smile.

          "No," Ezra agreed.  "But I— I want to thank you… Vin."

          "For?"

          "You were the first one on the team who truly accepted me," Ezra said.  "Your friendship made the transition… bearable, and, I think, made it easier for the others to give me the benefit of the doubt."

          Vin grinned.  "Hell, Ezra… y' weren't all _that_ bad."

          That sparked a grin from the man.  "Yes, well, of course I wasn't," he complained.

          "Says you."

          Ezra shot him a glare.

          "Don't give me that… look.  You're… pickin' up Larabee's bad habits."

          Ezra nodded, but he could feel the tears building again.  "I should go, let you rest…" he said, starting to stand.

          "Just wanted… all 'a ya t' know," Vin said as he did, "that I love y' all… like family…"

          Ezra nodded, his throat suddenly too tight to permit him to speak.  He beat a hasty retreat from the room, silently praying for what was looking more and more like a necessary miracle.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Thursday, 1812 Hours**

 

          "N-Nat."  Frank fought to get his chattering teeth under control.

          "I heard you were asking for me."  Durant's blue eyes were filled with compassion as she took note of her friend's shivering.  Grabbing another blanket from the closet, she spread it over him.

          "Yeah… n-need your h-help."

          "What is it?" she asked, frowning with concern as she checked his vitals.

          "Not… t-that…"  He gestured toward the rolling table she had pushed aside upon her entry into the room.  "That."

          Looking closer, Durant saw the tablet and pen lying on top.  Picking it up, she suddenly understood as she read the first line.  _"Dear Stephen… if you're reading this—"_ Her gut clenched.

          "Frank—"  She blinked back tears.  She had written her share of last letters and such for patients, but never for someone as close as Frank.

          "P-please…"  His dark eyes implored her.  "Too… w-weak now."

          Brushing the tears away, Natalie nodded.  There was no way she wanted Eva to have to do this, and Miles…  Well, she wasn't even sure he knew about Frank and Stephen's relationship.

          "Whenever you're ready," she said, holding the pen tip just above the paper.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Two hours later, Stephen sat listening to his lover's conversation with his oldest daughter, Shauntay.  Stephen had placed the call, explaining the situation to Powell's ex-wife Kim before turning the phone over to his partner.  Frank had already talked to the two younger girls, telling them he loved them and to take care of each other.

          Connor had intended to leave but Frank asked him to stay, as he had at the ice station in Ellesmeare when he'd made such a difficult call.  It wasn't any easier listening now than it had been then.  If anything, it was harder.

          "Take care… of your sisters…" Frank wheezed.  "Love you—"  And with that, he passed out.

          _"Daddy!"_ came the anguished cry.

          Stephen jumped up and retrieved the phone from Frank's unresponsive hand.

"Shauntay?  It's Stephen.  Your dad's still here, I promise.  He passed out, that's all.  I swear.  Let me go so I can help him, okay?  I'll call.  You know I will, sweetheart."

          Disconnecting the call, Connor hit the bed's emergency response button.  It was time go get Frank on a ventilator.

          "Hang in there," Stephen whispered, holding on to his lover's hand.  "Just keep hanging on, Frank.  Hear me?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0512 Hours**

 

          "Damn it."

          "What?" Connor asked, looking up from his microscope.  He blinked, trying to force his eyes to refocus.

          Natalie Durant tossed her clipboard down on the table and rubbed savagely at the back of her neck.  "I can't keep up with the mutations.  Every time I think we've got a handle on it, the damn thing changes, and the graphs are getting less and less predictable the longer we keep going!"

          Connor stood and joined his colleague.

          She took a deep breath and looked up at him.  "Sorry," she said softly.  "I shouldn't be taking this out on you."

          Reaching out, he pulled her into a hug.  "You've been putting up with me, it's the least I can do."

          She stood, resting in the shared embrace.  Then she stepped back, her expression lighting up for the first time in days.  "That's it!"

          "What?"

          "The patterns are breaking down because the _organism's_ started breaking down!  We've known all along that the recombination isn't stable."  At Connor's blank look she said, "It's dying, Stephen.  If we can just keep Frank and the others going, that damn thing will die off on its own!"

          Connor's arms snaked around her waist more tightly and he swung her around with a whoop.  "You're right!"  He huffed out a breath and said, "We need to find out what the deterioration rate of this monster is."

          She nodded, feeling a little hope for the first time in days.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0631 Hours**

 

          "Clear!" Miles shouted, checking that everyone was well away from the gurney before applying the defibrillator to his patient.  _Nothing, damn it!_  "C'mon… come on," he growled.

          But there was no response.

          He heard two other doctors working frantically on their patients in the same manner but couldn't spare the resources to pay attention to the outcomes.

          "Okay, one last time," he ordered, watching as the nurse upped the voltage.

          "Clear!"

          Still no conversion.

          "Adrenaline!"  Grabbing the syringe from the nurse's hand, Miles winced.  He hated this part but if it saved a life, that's what mattered.  Locating the proper injection site, he inserted the needle and pressed the plunger.

          "No response, Doctor," another of the nurses reported, her voice cracking.

          "God damn it," Miles swore as he lobbed the syringe at the disposal bin.  He did not want to be the one to tell Stephen they had lost another patient, especially knowing it worsened the odds of Frank's survival.

          "Wait…  Doctor, look!"

          McCabe swung to where the nurse pointed at the monitor.  Sure enough there was a small blip as the equipment caught a heartbeat.  And then another.  Within seconds a steady if weak rhythm was visible.

          _Brain activity… what about brain activity?_

          Checking the EEG monitor, Miles sucked in a startled breath to see there were also measurable readings there.  Low, but within normal parameters.

          "Damn!" Dr. Carlos Saguaro swore as a nurse pulled the sheet up over his patient.  "There's got to be a way to fight this thing!"

          Miles nodded wearily.  His patient had survived, but too many others hadn't.  And there were still others who were yet to approach the last critical stage.

          "Adrenaline!"

          Both doctors turned to watch their colleague, Dr. Holly LaBarre, administer the drug to her patient.  And both were amazed when moments later, the EKG caught the faint rhythm of a heartbeat.

          "It's in the timing," Miles realized, his heart racing.

          "How do you mean?" Saguaro asked.

          Thinking it through, Miles said, "Nat and Stephen said we had to wait it out, to keep the patients going until the organism died off.  What if the patient actually has to die, in order for that to happen?"

          "That's crazy!" the other man snapped.

          "Maybe it is."  McCabe grinned.  "But I'm going to go tell Connor."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          There was no sign of Connor in the lab, but Natalie was there.  Her face was lined with exhaustion and stress.

          "Where's Stephen?" Miles demanded as he walked in.

          "He's with Frank," Natalie answered dully.  "He's… slipping."

          "God… we don't have much time then."  Miles put the three charts in front of her.  "Three more went into respiratory failure.  We got two of them back this time, Nat."

          "What?"  That got the other doctor to her feet to examine the data.  "How?"

          "I'm not sure.  That's what I'm hoping we can figure out."

          "Respirator values, defibrillation charges, amount of adrenaline…  Damn it, Miles, this is all standard protocol!" Durant snapped.  Then she took a second glance.  "Wait a minute… the timing…  That's it!  It has to be in the timing of the adrenaline!"

          "We've got to let Stephen know," Miles said.  "Administered too soon and it won't work."

          "Too late, and we won't be able to get them back."  Natalie shook her head as they rushed for the door.  "Talk about a God complex."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Relax," Stephen urged, holding tight to Frank's hand as the other man struggled to draw a breath.  "Just relax."

          "Easier… said… than done," Powell gasped, his breath expelling in a rattling wheeze.

          "Shhh, don't talk," the blond cautioned.  "Save your breath."

          Frank's look clearly said what his body couldn't at this point.  _For what?_

          "You promised you wouldn't give up," Stephen reminded, his voice cracking as he spoke.

          A knock at the door saved Frank from any sort of response.

          Connor turned, watching as Natalie and Miles walked in. Although obviously weary, their expressions bore hope for the first time since they had learned what they were up against.

          "What is it, what have you found?" Connor asked sharply.

          Miles' eyes widened as he took in the scene before him.  Stephen was sitting on the edge of Frank's bed, his hand entwined with the other man's.  It spoke of an intimacy between the two that went deeper than their years of friendship.

          "Not here," Natalie answered, looking pointedly at Frank.  "Let's talk in the hallway."

          "No… way," Frank rasped.  Although weak, there was still enough steel in the tone to catch their attention.  "Affects… me… right to… know."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          At a loss for anything constructive to do, Nathan had been pacing the hallways, helping where he could and listening for any news of a break.  So far, nothing positive had come of his vigil.

          "I just witnessed another body bag being taken to the morgue," Ezra said, joining him from the direction of the elevator.

          Nathan nodded.  "Yeah, there was a rush of folks coming and going just a while ago.  Seems like something's up, but I haven't been able to get a handle on what it is."

          "Might our answer lie with them?" Ezra asked, gesturing down the hall to where Natalie and Miles were walking toward them.  "We could always ask—"

          "Too late," the former medic said as they watched the duo enter a patient's room.

"I do believe that is Mr. Powell's room – their NIH colleague," Ezra said.

          "Let's go wait for them," Nathan suggested, nudging his teammate in the direction of the room.

          As it turned out, there was no need to wait.  The door, when pushed open to a certain degree, automatically held until pushed shut.  The NIH physicians hadn't bothered to do so.

          "This is most unethical," Ezra protested quietly.

          Nathan frowned at him.  "Now you grow a conscience?  This is Vin's life we're talking about."

          "Very well," Standish conceded as they took up positions that would allow them to hear the conversation from within the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "…so what you're telling me is that we have to let all of the patients die?" Connor asked, his voice full of disbelief at the suggestion.

          "Think about it, Stephen," Natalie insisted.  "It makes sense!  When the patient dies, the organism dies with it.  You resuscitate the patient, but the organism remains dead."

          "It's too risky," Stephen argued.

          A weak laugh could be heard.  "Gonna… die anway."

          "Frank—"  Connor's voice cut off abruptly, and he cleared his throat.

          "Gotta… try," the ill man insisted.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Nathan pulled Ezra away from the doorway, suddenly conscious of the fact that they were intruding on an intensely private conversation.  He had heard that same tone of voice before, between Vin and Chris.

          "What the—?  Mr. Jackson, I must protest!" Standish complained as he wrenched his arm free.

          "We got what we needed," Nathan said calmly and not elaborating.

          "What they mentioned… is that plausible?" Ezra wondered.

          The former medic shrugged.  "I'm not a doctor, but it makes sense.  Connor's right, though.  It'll be mighty tricky timing."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "We need to prep the other doctors and nurses," Connor said, switching back into professional mode.  "Remind them of the critical timing and the importance of not rushing the dose of adrenaline."

          "I can do that," Miles said.

          "Someone should also tell the others," Natalie said.  "The relatives and friends waiting for word."

          Connor looked torn, but Powell made the decision for them.

          "Go," Frank whispered, motioning their joined hands toward the door.  "I'll wait… I promise…"

          Stephen blinked back tears, turning back to the bed and as if they were alone in the room, he leaned down and kissed Frank's forehead before shifting to whisper in his ear, "You'd better, or I'll come after you and kick your ass."  Disengaging their hands, Connor stalked out the door, Durant and McCabe in his wake.

          Stephen could feel the weight of McCabe's gaze on him as they walked.  He knew what had to be on the other man's mind.  With a sigh, he stopped and reached out to halt Miles as well.  "I'm only going to say this once, and after that it's not a topic open for discussion, got it?" he snapped.  At the younger man's nod, Connor continued, saying, "All right.  Yes, Frank and I are lovers.  We have been for a couple of years.  And if you have a problem with that, I'll speak to Ewing.  There are plenty of opportunities for you—"

          "I don't have a problem," Miles interrupted.  "I was only thinking that it explained a lot of things."

          "Things?"  Blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

          "Can't this wait?" Natalie asked, pulling both men back to the crisis at hand.

          At that moment, two of the ATF agents approached.  The taller one, whom Natalie remembered was Nathan Jackson, spoke first.

          "Dr. Connor, what you said back there… was it true?" he asked.  Seeing Connor's momentary confusion, Nathan clarified, "That you're going to have to let the victims die in order to save them?"

          Stephen chuffed out a breath, then nodded.  "Yeah, it's true."

          "We should tell Chris," the second agent insisted.

          "I think you should let us do that.  Telling anyone that they're going to have to die to be saved is going to come better from one of us," Connor said.

          "Thanks, Doc," Nathan said.  "I wasn't looking forward to trying to tell Chris that one…"  He and Ezra headed off to break the news to Buck, JD and Josiah.  They would need to be there for Chris once he was told.

          "Look, Stephen, I'll go talk to Agent Larabee, and Miles has already agreed to handle the medical personnel, why don't you go back and stay with Frank?" Natalie suggested.

          Stephen didn't even bother to argue.  "Thanks, Nat.  And, Miles, just so you know, you're not the only person we didn't tell.  I felt it was better this way; I was wrong.  I'm sorry."  And with that, the older man turned and walked away.

          "Pick your jaw up off the floor," Natalie gently scolded.  "We've got work to do."  She started for Agent Tanner's room, Miles beside her.

          "You want my company for this one?" he asked her.

          "If you think we have the time," she replied.  "Agent Larabee can be a little…"

          "Intimidating?" Miles offered.

          She smiled.  "Good word."


	16. Chapter 16

**Friday, 0813 Hours**

 

          Chris watched the second hand of the large wall-clock rotate steadily.  Time had lost any particular association with the shift of shadows or the coming and going of the nurses.  Seconds were measured in the forced, ragged gasps that passed for breathing, and were amplified to an eternity when the labored hiss caught, Vin's diaphragm going into spasm.  When the stalled breath would tumble out in a coughing wheeze, Larabee would allow himself to breathe again and time plodded along once more, carrying them all closer to tragedy.

          The full mask over Vin's face now made little difference in his constant fight to move air in and out of his lungs.  The blond ground his teeth together, noting the slightly blue pallor around the sniper's lips.  The last nurse who had come in had told him they would be putting Vin on a ventilator soon…  But he knew the man would never allow that.  They'd have to sedate him; he'd end up lying in that bed and dying…  He was dying, right now, right in front of his eyes.

          Vin was sitting upright in the bed, his hands pressed tightly against his thighs, his fingers turned inward, pointing toward each other the way the nurse had shown him earlier.  His shoulders were hunched forward to provide as much room as possible for his lungs to work, and he concentrated on breathing.  Nothing else mattered.

          The muscles in his neck, shoulders, and arms were corded with the continuing effort and sweat ran down his face to drip off his chin.

          As it had before, the fight eventually grew easier for a time and the blue eyes blinked open, blearily searching the room until he spotted Chris, who had retreated away from the painful wheezing that threatened to drive him mad with frustration.

          Vin met his eyes and held his gaze.  Chris could read the truth he saw there as easily as he did a newspaper.  Vin was glad he was close by, glad he had a friend with him in this hell he'd found himself caught in.  Vin was afraid, and he didn't want to be alone.

          So simple what it all came down to in the end…

          The tightening in Vin's chest had increased, the spasms coming closer and closer now.  And Larabee knew part of that look was gratitude for the promise Vin still thought Chris could carry out…

          "Chris…" Tanner rasped.

          "Easy, Vin," Larabee said, pushing out of his chair and walking to the foot of the bed, afraid if he got any closer it would somehow make Vin worse… or he might have to watch the light leave the man's eyes…  He swallowed thickly and forced himself to stay put as he said, "It's fine, Vin.  I'm here.  Just keep breathing, okay?"

          "It's… time," Tanner said weakly.  "Get me… outta here."

          Chris felt the cold steel arrows of fear shoot through his bones, immobilizing him.  No!  It wasn't time!  It couldn't be.  Connor and Durant _had_ to find a cure, they had—

          "Chris… y' gave… your word…"

          Squeezing his jaw tight, Larabee forced himself to take the three steps that brought him to Vin's side.  Frightened, pleading blue eyes looked up at him, begging him to make good on that damn promise.

"Please…"

          "I'll— I'll get a wheelchair," was the only thing Chris could think to say.  "I'll be right back.

          Vin nodded, the gratitude in his eyes almost enough to make Larabee sick to his stomach.  He watched the man go, knowing he was going to need a lot of help when this was over.  Yesterday, when he'd finally been able to talk to Buck, it had been Chris that they had talked about.  About how he was going to be hurting…  About how he was going to want to leave the team…  About how close he'd come to killing himself with alcohol when Sarah and Adam had died, and how he'd probably retreat to the bottle again…

          But, like before, Buck would be there for the man.  Buck and the others this time, too.  They would have to keep a close eye on Larabee…

          But he knew they would.  He knew Buck would do everything in his power to make sure the man came though this…

          God.  He'd never thought that he'd mean that much to anybody, never guessed that his death might actually cause that much pain in somebody else's soul.  And here he was, hurting four men, and coming close to destroying a fifth…  Who the hell would have thought?

          Him…

          He didn't want to die.  He didn't want to hurt them like that, especially not Chris, but he couldn't stop it.  He'd fought.  He fought hard, and for longer than he'd thought he could.

          But every time he'd considered giving up, surrendering to the beckoning darkness that crowded his vision, he saw the look on Chris' face and he'd found the strength to keep fighting for one more breath, and one more, and one more…

          But it was getting harder and harder now, and he knew that, before long, no matter how hard he fought, no matter how much he wanted to live, he wasn't going to be able to draw another breath.  His body was going to betray him, regardless of his willingness to keep up the fight.

          And then he'd die.

          _Please, Lord_ , he thought, _watch over 'em…  Watch over Chris.  Please.  He's gonna need ya, Lord.  Just help him though this…  We need him here, doin' what he does best, but he ain't gonna make it without ya…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0826 Hours**

 

          "Agent Tanner, Agent Larabee, we—" Natalie pulled up short, her gaze sweeping over the empty room.  "They're gone?" she muttered, confused.

          Miles shook his head.  "He was holding on…"

The pair stampeded into the hallway.

          "Nathan!" Natalie called out, catching sight of the former medic who was standing at the end of the hallway, talking with Josiah Sanchez.

          Jackson turned to look at her, he and Josiah hurrying down to join them when they realized the doctors were gathered at the door to Vin's room.

          "Agents Larabee and Tanner are missing," Natalie said, directing her comments to Josiah.  "Have you seen them?"

          The profiler shifted uncomfortably, chewing on his lower lip.  "Yes, ma'am, I've seen them…" he admitted reluctantly.

          "Josiah," Nathan growled, "what's going on?"  He shot Natalie a look, adding, "I just told him—"

          "We have to find them – _now_ ," Miles said.

          "I'm sorry, Doctors," Josiah apologized.  "But I gave Vin my word, I—"

          "Agent," Dr. Durant snapped, "we have a way to save Vin's life, _if_ we can get to him in time.  Where is he?"

          "Goddamn it!" Nathan swore before Josiah could respond, dragging his damp palm over his mouth.  "They left, didn't they?"

          "Left?" Miles asked, his eyes rounding with surprise and worry.

          Josiah was nodding.  "They left the lab," he acknowledged, grabbing the cell phone at his belt and speed dialing a number.  "Buck, get JD, we have to find Chris and Vin A-S-A-P.  They left here in the Ram about three minutes ago, headed west."  An acknowledgement echoed over the phone as he turned back to the threesome.  "Vin didn't want to die in a hospital," he told the two doctors.  "He made an arrangement with Chris—"

          "Do you know where they went?" Natalie demanded.

          "No," the big man said sadly.  "I helped Chris get him into the Ram and they left."  The man's face pinched slightly.  "But from the way Vin looked, they won't have gotten far."

"Natalie!  Miles!" Eva's voice rang sharply in the hospital corridor.  "You need to come quickly.  Frank's crashing!"

          Durant and McCabe exchanged worried looks.  They hadn't expected it to come this soon.

          "Dear God—" Josiah whispered.

          "Go!" Nathan urged.  "We'll track down Chris and Vin."

          The NIH doctors needed no further urging and they hurried after Eva, heading toward Frank's room.

          Natalie was first one inside the room and she held out her arm to keep Miles from approaching closer.  The scene playing out before her made her throat tight with grief.

          Stephen was leaning over Powell, whispering softly.  Frank's struggle to breathe was obvious.  His eyes were half-open, looking in Stephen's direction.

          "It's okay to let go, Frank," Connor whispered, gently squeezing the hand he held.  "Just this once, it's okay.  I promise.  I've got you, and I won't let go.  You can't go too far."

          Frank continued his struggle to breathe, clearly unwilling to give up so easily.  He was sure if he did, he'd never make it back.

          "Frank, damn it, let me do the fighting, okay?" Stephen pleaded hoarsely.  "Don't make this any harder—"

          "Love… you…" Frank rasped, and with that he relaxed.  In the next second the monitors began sounding their alarms, alerting them to the cessation of heart and lung function.

          Stephen choked on a sob and had to fight against every instinct he had not to begin the fight for resuscitation.  He held tightly to Frank's hand, even as he turned to McCabe and Durant.  "How long?" he snapped.

          "Two and a half… three minutes at the most," Miles responded, his face pale.  This was still very much a working theory, and it was the boss' best fr— lover, whose life was on the line.

          Natalie was tracking the time.  "We're just passing the ninety second mark… now."

          "God, too long," Connor breathed.  "It's too long without oxygen."  And yet he knew if they tried too soon the organism would still be alive to continue to ravage Frank's system.

          Hell of a choice…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Frank heard the shrill whine of alarms and his friends' worried voices, but from behind him, and as if from a long distance.  The darkness of the tunnel in front of him didn't bother him.  If anything, he found it a comfort.  No more light, no more intrusions into his privacy.  He was alone here.

          Or… maybe not.

          Powell almost laughed upon seeing the proverbial "light at the end of the tunnel."  It was almost too clichéd to believe.

          He could hear different voices now, too, but they were indistinct and pitched too low for him to catch any words.  They didn't sound threatening, but he couldn't tell if they were friendly, either.  With a mental shrug he continued onward.

          As he approached the light the voices grew more distinct, and definitely familiar.  Frank tried to move faster, but his time sense was non-existent.  It felt like he had already been in the tunnel for an eternity.

          "Not eternity," came the clearly amused answer, "but it will be if you don't make up your mind soon, son."

          "Pop?"  Powell turned and found himself wrapped tight in a loving bear hug.  "God, I've missed you!"

          "Missed you, too."  The older man looked exactly the same as he had the last time Frank had seen him.

          "There're folks waiting for you, y'know."  The senior Powell pointed toward the light.  "But you also got folks worryin' over you back there, too."

          With a frown, Frank turned and looked back the way he'd come. He couldn't see anything, but he felt a strong pull in that direction nevertheless.

          "Dad, I don't—"

          The words lodged in his throat and he took a step backward.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The time passed far too slowly for the three physicians in the room.  Each of them struggled against long ingrained habits to _move,_ to begin work on their patient.

          Stephen's desperate war with his own instincts was interrupted as the door to the room crashed open, admitting two doctors and a trio of nurses.  The newcomers immediately moved toward the defibrillator, waiting silently by Frank's bedside.

"I won't let you do this, Connor," the older of the two doctors announced, attempting to shove past Stephen.  "This patient still has a chance, denying him that is murder!"

          "It's murder if we resuscitate too soon, Paul.  You've seen the data!" Connor snapped, restraining his colleague.  There was no way in hell he was going to allow anyone other than his team to lay their hands on Frank right now.

          "Damn it, Connor, your arrogance is going to kill someone one of these days.  If he dies—"

          "Connor, it's time!" Miles yelled.  Ignoring the other personnel, McCabe and Durant rushed into action, working like the well-established team they had become.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The darkness surrounding Frank suddenly gave way and he gasped, rubbing his chest.  "What the hell?" he growled.

          "Your friends aren't willing to let you go without a fight," his father observed, resting his hand on the younger man's shoulder and directing his attention to the room now visible behind them.

          "Yeah," Frank responded quietly, his gaze on one man in particular.  Connor's face was white with strain, his eyes blood-shot and red-rimmed.  He looked like he had aged ten years in the span of days.

          Connor was shouting at Natalie and Miles, directing their actions.  Occasionally he would lean down and whisper something in Frank's – his? – ear.  Although Powell struggled to hear it, he couldn't make out the words.  He vaguely remembered Stephen saying he'd hang on for both of them.  Knowing his lover, it was something along those lines.

          "He's a determined man, and he loves you very much."  There was no censure or rebuke in Powell Senior's tone, merely a statement of facts.

          "I love him, too, Dad.  More than I ever thought possible."  Realization hit.  "I have to go back!  I can't stay here.  If I do—"

          His father nodded.

          "It won't be easy, son, but I believe you have the strength of will to see it through.  When it's really your time, I'll greet you both."

          "Dad?  Dad!  Wait!"

          Frank looked around, feeling alone and vulnerable.  He jumped as he heard the defibrillator discharge and groaned as he actually felt the current shoot through his… body?

But wait, he hadn't been in his body…  Oh, shit… that hurt.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Clear!" Natalie yelled.  Making sure no one was in contact, she defibrillated Powell.  "Miles?"

          "Still nothing," the younger physician grimly noted.

          "Damn it!  Come on, Frank.  I told you not to wander off too far," Connor growled, leaning closer.  Looking over at Natalie, he ordered, "Hit him again."

          With a nod, she snapped, "Clear!"

          "Here's the adrenaline."  Miles offered the syringe to Connor.  To his surprise the older physician shook his head.

          "I can't be the one.  I'm too involved.  Besides, it's your discovery.  You've earned it, Miles.  Do it," Stephen instructed, his voice calm and level.

          Knowing he had no time for second guessing or self-doubt, McCabe nodded and plunged the needle home, injecting the needed medicine directly to the man's heart.

          About to shock Powell again, Natalie whooped with glee as a heartbeat registered.  It was faint and irregular, but it was there.

          Stephen quickly hooked up the line for the EEG, smiling broadly when brainwaves registered, in the low normal range.

          "We got him back," he whispered, blinking tears from eyes.  "Thank God… we got him back."  He looked at the other two and added.  "Get him on a respirator."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0839 Hours**

 

          Chris pulled onto the dirt shoulder of the road and cut the motor.  It wasn't exactly wilderness, but at least there was grass and some trees, a small green oasis right off a busy road.  Bolting out of his seat, he rounded the front of the truck and jerked the passenger door open.  Vin was leaning back against the seat, trying to suck in another breath.

          Slipping his arm behind the younger man's back, Larabee pulled Vin to the edge of the seat, supporting him as Tanner's feet dropped to the ground and he stood on shaking legs.  Together they stumbled slowly down a small incline to a clump of pine trees.

          Easing Vin down to the ground, Chris collapsed next to him, fear causing his body to tremble uncontrollably.  The ring of blue around Vin's mouth was darker now, and spreading down his chin.

          Vin's eyes opened, and he looked up through the boughs of the trees into the blue, cloudless sky beyond.  "Thank… y'… Chris…"

          Chris reached out and gripped his friend's shoulder.  "Damn it, Vin, it's not supposed to work like this," he choked out.

          A small, crooked smile lifted the sniper's lips.  "Tell me… 'bout it."  He fought through another breath, then added.  "Y' will… survive this… Chris… trust me.  I'll… be there… with ya… I swear…"

          Larabee's eyes slid closed, the tears he'd denied himself earlier finally falling.  Without thinking, he pulled Vin into his lap, supporting the younger man against his chest.  The struggle for breath eased slightly, and Chris could feel Tanner relaxing a little.

          "Y' mean… more t' me… 'n anythin'…" Vin whispered.  "Love y'… s' much…"

          "Shh," Chris said, unable to speak.

          "Y'all… 'r m' family… love y'… all… gave me… more 'n… ever… thought… I'd have… 'pecially you…  y' don't know… how happy… y' made me…"

          "Vin, please," Chris managed to choke out.

          "I'll be… watchin' out… for y'… Chris…"

          Larabee squeezed his eyes closed, willing this all to be a dream, but he knew it wasn't…  He knew the man he loved more than anything was dying in his arms…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0844 hours**

 

          "There!" Buck barked, his hand reaching automatically for Josiah's arm.

          "I see it," Sanchez replied, pulling off the road and parking behind the Ram.

          "We've got them!" Buck snapped into his cell phone as he and Josiah climbed out of the Chevy Suburban.  "Two miles west, on Esperanza."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0845 Hours**

 

          In Ezra's Jag, JD and the undercover man exchanged glances.  "Well?" Standish asked.

          "We're close," JD replied.  "Can't hurt…"

          "My feelings, exactly," Ezra concurred, turning around and flooring the accelerator.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0847 Hours**

 

          After a quick check of the truck, Buck and Josiah scanned the surrounding area, the ladies' man spotting the two men first.  "There," he said and pointed.

          Josiah started forward.

          "Wait," Buck whispered, reaching out to stop the man.

          Chris rocked Vin slowly from side to side, the tears on his face telling them more than they wanted to know.

          "Goddamn it," Buck swore under his breath, and Josiah placed his hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him, but he knew it would do no good.  There was no comfort for a loss like this.

          They heard the Jag pull up and, a moment later, Ezra and JD joined them, their faces all expressionless masks as Chris tipped his head back and an inarticulate cry tore free of his throat, and echoing over the still landscape.

          Josiah nodded and the four men walked silently back to their vehicles, giving Chris and Vin their privacy.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0845 Hours**

 

          Vin felt his struggle begin to ease, the pain slipping away as the desperate need for air disappeared.  A velvet swirl of colors enveloped him, blocking out his view of the pine boughs and the sky.

          From a distance he could hear Chris' voice, but the words were lost in a rising euphoria he couldn't explain.  He welcomed the sensations, embraced them, feeling whole and well for the first time in days.

          How long the warm, silky rainbow cradled him like that, Vin wasn't sure, but when he found himself floating near the top of a pine tree, he sucked in a breath of surprise.  At least, he thought he did.

          _What in the world…?_

          He glanced around, disorientated by the unusual aerial perspective, and felt a tug on some part of his awareness that he couldn't quite identify.  He looked down.

          Chris was holding him, cradling him in his arms as tears flowed freely down the blond's cheeks. _Damn, 'm sorry, Chris…_  The love he felt for the man swelled inside him, filling every bit of his awareness and existence, but then he was brought back to the reality.

          _What the hell's going on?_ he wondered, trying to reach out and touch Chris.  If he could just explain to him that he was fine, that he could breathe now, he—

          _I'm not breathing._

          Vin studied himself more closely.  His head was resting limply against Chris' shoulder, his chest still.  He'd seen death often enough to recognize it, even in himself.

          _I'm… dead._   The thought wasn't as frightening as he'd imagined it would be.  _But this floatin' around is gonna take some gettin' used to._

          Forcing his attention away from Chris, Vin caught sight of the others at the top of the hill.  They were all looking miserable and crying, too.

          _Ah hell, y' weren't all supposed t' be here.  It was supposed t' be me and Chris.  Y' didn't have to see this._   Although, he realized, that they were all there made him pulse with a warmth he could never describe in words.

          Wait…

          Nathan was missing…

          Where was he?

          He tried to move closer to the gathered men, but the activity did nothing more than tip him forward somehow.

          His arms flailing, he righted himself and wondered if it was true that angels had to earn their wings.  Wings would sure make getting around a lot easier.

          Then he grinned to himself.  Of course, he was making some really big assumptions…

          He glanced back at the men.  Still no Nathan.

          Glancing down, he found Larabee staring up at him.  _Chris?_ he called.

          But instead of an answer, Vin saw the man's mouth open and a single sharp cry of pain lanced out from Larabee, slicing straight through Vin.  He winced, feeling Chris' emotional anguish as it passed though him.

          _Chris, it's okay,_ he called.  _I'm okay, now.  Let go, it's okay._

          More movement interrupted Vin's efforts to communicate with his friend, and he searched the hillside, finding Ezra now seated on the ground next to his car, knees drawn up to his chest, arms hugging his legs, his face buried against his knees.  He knew the man was crying.

          Feeling Ezra's pain joining Chris', Vin pulled back.  Then he saw that they were all crying, and he could feel all of their emotions – different shades of loss, grief and hurt.

          _I don't want t' hurt y'all.  I can't help this._

          An odd sound caught his attention, the first he'd actually "heard" since the colors had surrounded him, and he spun around, but there was nothing here except the trees and the sky.  Then, at the edges of his vision, a fine white mist started closing in.

          He tried to back-peddle back away from the fog, but the swirling colors returned, wrapping themselves around him, buoying him along like a leaf on a slow-moving river.

          _No, wait!_ he cried silently.  _I want to—_

          In the distance a light appeared, bright and pulsing.  A comforting sound rose slowly in pitch as he moved closer to the light and the fear and worry fell away, shed like a second skin he no longer needed.

          Moving faster now, Vin surrendered to the indescribable feelings that surged through him, opening his arms wide to embrace the light as it engulfed him.


	17. Chapter 17

**0850 Hours**

 

          Wiping at his eyes, Josiah started down the hill.  Breaking away from the others, Buck followed him.

          Chris looked up at the two men, then down at Vin.  "He's gone," he whispered.

          "I'll take him, Chris," Josiah said quietly, extending his hands.

          Chris started to protest, but then allowed the older man to gather up Vin's body and carry it up to the Ram.

          Buck helped his friend climb to his feet, the two of them stumbling up the hill after Josiah.  At the top, JD reached out, catching Chris' hand in his own and giving it a hard squeeze.

          Chris pulled free and climbed into the back of the Ram, sitting down next to the body.  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he tossed Buck the keys to the truck.

          "I don't think I can drive," he said simply.

          The others waited until the Ram pulled away before walking over to the other vehicles.  Josiah reached out and pulled Ezra to his feet.

          Wiping his face, Standish said, "I— I don't think I can drive either."

          "Come on," Josiah said with a sympathetic nod and a short hug.  "Climb in.  JD can drive you back."

          JD nodded.  "Yeah, sure, no problem."  He met Josiah's eyes.  "I'll, uh, follow you, okay?"

          Josiah nodded, then headed to the Suburban and climbed in.  A few moments later he was pulling back onto the road.  JD followed him as he said he would.

          Ezra watched the younger man as he drove, his gaze fixed determinedly on the road, but they were bright with tears.

          "Vin Tanner, dead…" Standish said quietly.

          JD nodded.  "Never thought I'd see the day."

          "None of us did," Standish replied.

          JD nodded, his own tears starting all over again.  "When we were talking…  He— He said he'd watch out for us," he whispered.  "Do you think he will?  That he might be… right now?"  A warm hand settled on his shoulder and JD nodded.  He knew Ezra understood.

          "I certainly wouldn't put it past him," the undercover man told him, his voice strained.  "Would you?"

          JD shook his head, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.  "No… I wouldn't."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Emerging from the loving embrace of the light, Vin found himself momentarily blinded.  He blinked and rubbed his eyes, wondering where he had been taken.

          "It takes a moment to adjust."

          "Mama?"

          A reassuring hand gripped his shoulder, and Vin squinted and peered into a young woman's blue eyes.  She looked exactly the same as Vin remembered her.

          "Mama, it _is_ you!"

          "Yes," Katherine Olivia Tanner replied with a sly smile.

          Vin's gaze shifted from his mother's face to the dirt trail they were standing on.  It was running alongside a wide, slow-moving river.  Glancing across to the far bank, he thought he could make out the face of his grandfather standing in the foggy mists.  And other faces faded in and out of the swirling grey mist as well.

          "I'm really dead, aren't I?" Vin asked quietly.

          "No, Vin.  Not yet."

          His gaze shifted back to his mother, both eyebrows arching toward his hairline.  "But—"

          "You can't stay here, baby."

          "Why?"  Vin reached out, his hand closing on the very real arm of the woman.

          "It's a mistake that you're here, sweetie.  It's not your time – not yet."

          Vin's mouth tipped into a grin.  "That sounds like a line from a bad late-night movie, Mama."

          "But it's true."  With a hand on her son's arm, she led them to a felled snarled tree trunk next to the water and sat down, Vin opting to pace along the riverbank.  "Ya have t' go back, Vin.  There's too much you've left unfinished."

          "Unfinished?" he asked, his hands sliding up to rest on his hips.

          "Your family needs you.  Chris needs you."

          "I— I know he does," he mumbled, looking down at his feet.  "I didn't want t' hurt 'em, Mama."

          She stood and walked over to him, soothing him with her hand pressed to his cheek.  "I know y' didn't, sweetie.  But you're needed there.  They all need ya to be with them longer, especially Chris."

          She pointed across the river and out of the swirling mists Vin could see the vague outlines of other people he thought he ought to recognize.  He shivered.

          "But I don't want to lose you again, Mama," Vin breathed quietly.

          She smiled at him and stroked his face.  "Ya have so many who love you…  Ya felt their pain, didn't ya?"

          Vin nodded and swayed slightly, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he recalled the disconcerting sensations emanating from Chris and all the others.  "I don't want to die, Mama.  But—"

          "I know, sweetie, I know.  Here there's no pain, no frustration or hopelessness.  But ya wouldn't be happy here.  You'd worry and watch the riverbank for those you've come t' love, and when they came, you'd feel ashamed and guilty."

          Vin nodded.  "Yeah, I guess I would."  In the distance he thought he might hear voices, orders being barked.  "Guess I don't belong here, do I."

          She shook her head.  "No, not yet."  She leaned in and kissed his cheek.  "I've missed you, baby, but I've been watchin' you…  You're a good man, Vin Tanner, a strong man.  You're a Tanner, and a Tanner never gives up."

          He nodded.  "I'm not givin' up, Mama…"

          "You have a good family, a real good family, Vin.  They love you."

          Vin nodded.  "Me 'n' Chris… y' ain't mad, are ya?"

          "No, baby," she told him, reaching out to cup his cheek.  "He loves you so much…  And you love him just as much.  I'm so glad you found that."

          Vin nodded, meeting her eyes.  God, but she was beautiful.  "I want t' go back, Mama.  Please?"

          Smiling and leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek again, she said, "This way."

          As they walked along the trail he thought he could hear the voices getting louder.  And there were other noises, mechanical ones, beeping sounds…  He looked over at his mother.  "Are you happy here?" he asked her.

          She nodded and smiled.  "I'm with your daddy, and my mama and daddy, Grandpa…"

          "My daddy?" Vin asked.  "You never told me who—"  He felt a sharp tug and he reached out, grabbing on to his mother's hand.  "Mama?"

          "It's all right, baby, we'll all be here when ya come t' stay, I promise."

          He felt the solid ground beneath his feet give away, sending him tumbling into the swirling colors.  The fall didn't really frighten him until the first soft caress of cold and pain reached out and touched him.

          "Mama!" he cried.

          "You'll be fine, baby.  I'll be with you… always…"

          The colors evaporated in the blink of an eye, pain and blackness encircling him, constricting his chest.  And then, with a blinding flash of agony, he sucked in a breath and mentally scrambled frantically for the beckoning blackness that now lay just beyond his reach.

          _Chris!_ he cried, hoping the man could hear him, and could help him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0906 Hours**

 

Knowing he was no longer needed with Frank, and there were other patients still to tend to, Miles herded the other medical personnel from the room, leaving Natalie and Stephen with their still unconscious team mate.

          "Here… sit before you fall," Natalie instructed, wheeling a stool and pushing Connor down onto it.

          The blond crossed his arms on the bed, leaning his head forward to rest on them.  He concentrated on slowing his breathing.

          Natalie worked around him, injecting medication to stabilize their friend's heart rate and switching out his IV bag.

          "That was too damned close, Nat," he murmured, minutes later.

          "I know."  She rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.  "To hell and back, remember?"

          Connor's laugh was edged with emotion.  "That was way beyond hell this time."

          "Yeah…"  Natalie wondered if her own face reflected the harrowing events of the past half-hour as clearly as Stephen's did.  She somehow doubted it.

          "And I'm not going to be able to really relax until he's awake."  Stephen entwined his fingers with Frank's.

          "Stay with him for now," Durant instructed.  "We'll call you if we need you."

          "Damn!"  Connor dropped Frank's hand.  "Tanner, the ATF team—"

          "Stay.  We'll call you."  Natalie took a few moments to rub some of the tension from her friend's shoulders.

          Before either of them could relax too much, the door burst open and McCabe entered, followed by Nathan.

          "They've found Chris and Vin.  They're on the way back."  The ATF agent swallowed hard.  "Buck said— Vin's dead."

          Natalie gasped, looking between Miles and Stephen.  All three knew the agent's chances had gone from slim to poor or worse.  Frank had been in the midst of the best technology but there was no telling how long Vin had been down.

          "It might not be too late," Miles said.  "Nat, come with me, we'll get a room ready.  Let's at least give him a chance before we write him off."

          As the three left the room, Stephen found himself torn.  He badly wanted to stay here with Frank.  It had been too close and his nerves were raw and exposed.  But his lover was stable, and Tanner needed his attention more at the moment.

          Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on the still warm forehead.

          "You're safe now," he whispered.  "I've got to go for a while but I'll be back as soon as I can."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0910 Hours**

 

          Chris kept his gaze carefully averted from the too-still form lying next to him in the truck bed.  Not since Sarah and Adam had died had he felt so utterly cold and numb inside.  He reached up, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, knowing at the same time that it would do nothing to cut the chill.  This time, he knew, there was no coming back…

          In the cab of the truck, Buck saw the laboratory come into view and noted Nathan and some other nurses were waiting at the doors.  "Chris, looks like something's up!" he yelled back at the man.

          But Larabee didn't hear a word the ladies' man said.  Buck's comment was lost when Vin sucked in a deep breath, causing Larabee to jump.

          "Vin?" Chris gasped, scooting closer to Tanner's body, his hands reaching out to test for a pulse.  There was nothing… except…

          Larabee felt the Ram turn into the secured parking lot.  "He's breathing!" he yelled at Buck.

          The ladies' man accelerated, driving straight to the door and breaking to a squealing stop.  Nathan and the nurses swarmed to the side of the Ram before he could cut the engine.  The NIH doctors arrived, Dr. McCabe pushing a gurney.

          "Hurry!" Connor bellowed.

          The tailgate was pulled down, people pushing in past Larabee to hastily remove Vin.

          "Easy with him!" Chris snapped.  "He's—"

          "Hurry!" Connor barked again.

          "What's going on?" Buck demanded, watching as Vin was transferred onto the gurney and wheeled inside, Connor and the other NIH doctors trailing behind, everyone moving at a run.

          "No time," Nathan said, grabbing Chris' sleeve and hurrying him out of the truck bed.  "They have to get him on life support."

          "Nathan, he's dead!" Buck snapped.

          "Not yet he isn't!" Nathan said, herding the two men into the facility.

          "Nathan," Chris said, coming to a stop.  "He _was_ dead," he said bluntly.  "But I think he— I think he took a breath."

          "Bodies do that," Buck said, his tone sympathetic.  He looked to Jackson for conformation.

          Nathan took a deep breath and said in a rush, "Frank Powell died, too, but they got him back."

          Chris' eyes rounded.  "Can they—?"

          "I don't know," Nathan said.  "They were right on top of things when he… died."

          Chris' expression shifted from shocked hope to utter devastation.  "You mean—?  If we'd stayed—?  _I_ killed him?"

          "Chris, no," Buck said, his arm going around the man's shoulders as he saw Larabee begin to sag.  He looked over, meeting Nathan's eyes.  "Help me get him into a chair."

          Jackson nodded and reached out, the two men maneuvering Larabee down the hallway and into a chair in their command and control.  Chris leaned over the table and buried his face in his arms, his shoulders jerking with the silent sobs that shook his body.

          Buck looked to Nathan.  " _Did_ we kill—?"

          The Black man shrugged, shaking his head.  "I'll go see what I can find out."

          The ladies' man nodded, his gaze falling to Chris' back.  _Jesus_ , he thought, _if taking him out there killed him…_   He squeezed his eyes closed, begging the Divine _not_ to put his oldest friend through that kind of hell.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, 0917 Hours**

 

          Nathan stared in disbelief at the clearly registering brain activity.  And, as he watched, Dr. Connor administered a mild stimulus to Vin's heart, sending the sniper's ECG back into a normal, rhythmic pulse.

          "Respirator has him now," Miles said.

          "BP is coming up," Natalie echoed.

          "How?" Ezra whispered.  "We saw him _die_ out there."

          Nathan and the NIH doctors looked over to the doorway of the room, finding Ezra, JD and Josiah standing there.

          "He didn't die," Natalie replied, "he just stopped breathing.  Come on, let's go to the conference room and I'll explain."

          Exiting, she and Nathan found several of the laboratory personnel waiting anxiously for news in the hallway.

          "He's alive," she told them, the scientists and technicians whooping in unison.  "This way," she said to the agents, smiling slightly at the display of enthusiasm.  Nathan, Josiah, Ezra and JD trailed after her, peppering her with questions as they went.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Find a spot," Dr. Durant told them waving her hand and heading for the coffee pot carefully ensconced in a corner of the room.  She poured four cups and carried them over to the table, distributing them as she explained.  "Okay, this is how we think this worked.  The mutation that Agent Tanner and our friend were infected with was particularly unstable, the recombination kept breaking down, which was why we were having so much trouble keeping up with the shifts.  But it wasn't breaking down fast enough to stall the effects of the toxins it was also producing as it lived and carried out its basic metabolic functions.  In fact, I think the production of the toxins actually played a role in speeding its own genetic breakdown."

          "And the toxins are what… killed him?" Josiah asked, then amended, "Or whatever that was out there that looked like dead?"

          "The toxins built up to the point where Agent Tanner lost autonomic respiratory control, but, at the same time, they were also making the recombination break down inside the organism.  We figured that out just before Agent Larabee managed to—  Anyway, that's why we came looking for Vin.  Frank went critical first and we thought that if we could get Vin on a respirator, like we did Frank, we could keep him going until the bacteria broke down on its own, since we couldn't isolate anything to use against it.

          "But we didn't have all the data on the deterioration rates.  Dr. McCabe got that just before the agents left," she told them.  "The bacteria had actually been breaking down for about twelve hours…"  She paused to take a breath, realizing that they weren't really following what she was saying, nor did they really care about the details.  "The organism was at the end of its life cycle," she summed up.  "The peak of the toxin build-up was just slightly ahead.  When the toxin peaked, and Vin stopped breathing, the organism had already finished breaking down, it had self-destructed.  Eventually, Vin's own system caught up and the level of the toxin began to fall, that freed up his autonomic system, but the timing was such that he went into respiratory arrest and ventricular fibrillation."

          "So he was never really dead-dead?" JD asked her.

          "Well, to be honest, I don't know.  Technically he'd stopped breathing and his heart had stopped when he'd arrived here."

          "That's dead in my book," JD supplied with a nervous laugh.

          "What now, Doctor?" Ezra asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

          "We'll keep him on the respirator until he's a little stronger and the levels of the toxin falls off more," she said, then looked nervously away.

          "What?" Nathan asked her, his eyes narrowing.  "There's more, isn't there?"

          She met the former medic's eyes.  "We don't know what the reaction is going to be to the decomposition of the toxin."

          "You mean Vin's still in danger?" Josiah questioned.

          Dr. Durant nodded.  "I'm sorry, but we're back to a wait-and-see situation.  The genetic structure of this organism was highly unstable.  Each victim has ended up with a slightly different tox profile…  I'm optimistic, but I can't make any promises.  If it helps, Frank, our teammate, is holding steady so far."

          The men nodded, but the grim expressions had returned.  She offered them a small, reassuring smile that had no effect, then left.

          "I'd better go find Buck and Chris," Nathan said quietly.  "Give them the news."

          Josiah shook his head.  "I don't think Chris needs to hear about this just yet."

          The former medic started to protest, but then he nodded, bowing to the profiler's better understanding of Larabee's current psychological state.

          Ezra forced himself to his feet.  "I just want to state for the record that I am getting damn tired of waiting for good news without any strings attached."

          "Amen, brother, amen," Josiah replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Stephen exhaled sharply as he exited Tanner's room and headed down the corridor.  That had been close; closer than he wanted to think about. but they had won the fight and Agent Tanner was once again among the living.

          _But for how long?_

          Connor tried to shake off the doubts.  He needed to see Frank again, needed the reassurance that only being with his partner could give him.

          As he passed the elevator, the bell chimed and the doors opened.  Stephen sighed quietly as Agents Larabee and Wilmington exited.  This encounter wasn't going to be easy, he was sure.

          "Dr. Connor, how's Vin?"  Buck reached out and stopped Chris' progress, unsure the other man had even noticed Connor's presence.

          "Gentlemen," Stephen said and nodded to them.  "We've resuscitated Agent Tanner and his vitals are stabilized.  He's on a ventilator to assist—"

          "Ventilator?" Chris exploded.  "What the hell?  I took him out there to prevent that from happening!  Damn it!"

          "Chris—"  Buck said, trying to soothe his friend, but Larabee was past that.

          "Look, I know it's not what he'd want for the long term, but we don't think this will be necessary for more than a day," Connor explained.  Despite his frustration, he understood where Vin was coming from.  "It's just to give Vin's body a chance to rest while he's fighting the toxins from the organism."

          "Toxins?" Buck questioned weakly.  That didn't sound good at all.

          Running his hand over his hair, Stephen nodded.  "As the organism breaks down it leaves behind a waste product that's toxic to our systems."

          "Son of a bitch," Chris growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.  The urge to strike out at something – anything – was overwhelming.  "You goddamned bastards just can't leave things alone, can you?  Always tampering with nature, looking for a better weapon to use against—"

          Connor's eyes narrowed and he did his best to keep his voice level as he interrupted, "I understand how you feel, Agent Larabee, trust me.  Frank's battling the same complication."

          "With all due respect, Doctor, I doubt your man is the same as Vin.  Spare no resources for your own, right?" Chris snapped.

          "Shit, Chris, back off," Buck said, getting between the two men.  "These people are trying to help Vin."

Glancing back over his shoulder, Buck flashed Connor an apologetic look and caught the flush that darkened the other man's face, along with an all-too-familiar haunted look in his eyes.  He had seen that look, more than once, on Larabee's face, especially when he couldn't protect Vin, no matter how hard he tried.

          Suddenly, some of the actions and looks he had seen pass between Connor and Powell began to make sense.  And Chris, he knew, being totally absorbed with Vin and his situation, hadn't noticed a thing.

          Taking a deep breath, Buck said, "I'm sorry, Doc.  He thinks with his mouth sometimes, but he's just worried about Vin – we all are."

          "I can speak for myself, Buck!" Larabee thundered.

          "Maybe I'm wrong," Connor cut in, "but I was under the impression we were on the same side, Agent Larabee.  My team had nothing to do with this research.  And, for the record, we've been kept dangerously uninformed while working on a cure for _all_ the victims, not just one – your man _or_ mine."

          "Hey, what's going on out here?" Natalie asked, rounding the corner.

          "Nothing, just a difference of opinion, Nat," Connor assured her, but his stony expression and white-knuckled grip on his stethoscope told her a different story.

          "Your friend's life is still in danger, Agent Larabee," Connor acknowledged.  "But he's alive, and that's a hell of lot better than the victims.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I think my time can be better used working on a way to help these men fight this toxin rather than standing here arguing about things we can't change."

          Natalie saw her friend's stiff posture as he walked away and sighed before turning her attention back to the ATF agents.  "I take it Stephen has brought you up to date on Vin's condition?" she asked, her tone compassionate.

          "Yeah," Buck said and nodded.  "Can— Can we see him?"

          "They're still working on getting him settled and comfortable.  I'll have someone come and get you when he's ready."  Giving the men a nod, Durant turned and entered Tanner's room.

          "I thought it was over," Chris whispered, his voice raw.

          "I know."  Wilmington reached out and grasped his friend's shoulder, squeezing it gently to show his support.

          "Damn it, first he was dead, then he took a breath and they whisked him away the second we pulled up.  I start to think that, maybe, he's alive and there's a way to beat this thing, and now—"  Chris inhaled sharply, then let the breath out slowly.  "Shit, now I don't know what to think."

"Vin's tough as nails, Chris, and he's got a lot to live for.  He'll beat this, you'll see."  Buck put as much optimism in his tone as he could.

          "A man can only fight for so long," Larabee said, sounding exhausted, as if he'd been the one fighting to live.

          And, in a way, Buck realized that was true.

          "And that damned doctor isn't helping any…  Same side my ass."  Larabee snorted with disbelief.

          "You might want to rethink that," Buck cautioned him.  "I think you two have a lot more in common than you realize."

          Chris' eyes narrowed as he glared at his oldest friend.  "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

          "Him and Powell…  I don't think they're just teammates and old friends, pard."  Seeing Larabee was still wasn't getting it, Buck rolled his eyes.  "For cryin' out loud, stud, you gonna make me say it?  Fine.  They're _together_ , like you and Vin."

          "Wha—?"

          "Before you lose your cool again, just think about it for a minute," Buck advised, counting on his friend's powers of observation.

          Larabee closed his eyes and replayed what he could remember of the interactions between the pair before Powell had become sick, and after.  He contrasted it with his own reactions to Vin and realized Buck was right.

          To a casual observer, one who didn't know what to look for, the men would appear to be close friends, but there was a familiar intimacy that spoke of more.  And it wasn't a new relationship, either.  He would bet they were a well-established couple.

          "Jesus…" Larabee breathed, stunned that Connor had been able to function at all, knowing his lover had been dying.  Had, in fact, died, he corrected himself – just like Vin had.  But now both men were alive again, but the shadow of death still hung over them…

          "Yeah," Buck quietly agreed, "exactly."

          Chris sighed again and shook his head.  "I don't know if I can do this again…"

          "We'll be right there with you," Buck promised, "all of us."

          Larabee looked up at the man who had been his best friend longer than he could remember.  "And if he dies – again?"

          "We'll all still be there," Buck replied, but he knew then, looking at Chris, that if they lost Vin, they'd lose Chris, too.  "Come on," he said, "let's go find the others, pool our information and see where we stand."

          Chris hesitated for a moment, then nodded.  There was nothing else they could do…


	18. Chapter 18

**Saturday, 0945 Hours**

 

          Stephen rubbed his eyes wearily.  He couldn't even remember the last time he'd slept for more than a couple hours at a stretch.  Even now his brain wouldn't shut down long enough for him to relax.

          Too close.  It had been terrifyingly close this time.  God.  For a few minutes there he had been sure they weren't going to get Frank back.  He hadn't expected it to be such a struggle.

          But they _had_ gotten him back, and Tanner as well, and a few of the others.  Fewer than he had hoped for, but any saved was a cause for celebration in a situation like this.

          Now, if only Frank would wake up…

          Like the others, Powell was still on a ventilator to support his exhausted body.  Nat and Miles were taking turns checking his vitals and comparing them to the rest of the survivors.  The three of them all knew this wasn't over, not yet…  Not by a long shot.

          He reached out and grasped Frank's hand, the one unencumbered by the IV.  Squeezing gently, he whispered, "You're doing fine, Frank.  Just rest and get stronger.  We'll beat this yet, you'll see."

          Wincing at the exhaustion burning in his eyes, Stephen closed them and leaned forward to rest his head on the bed.

          Sleep claimed him within in the span of a few breaths.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Stephen, I just checked on Agent Tann—"  Natalie snapped her mouth shut as she entered the room and saw Connor was finally sleeping.  He looked hellishly uncomfortable, but he needed the rest more than anything.

          Keeping an eye on Stephen, Durant jotted down Frank's vitals before drawing a vial of blood.  She frowned, noting the rise in the man's temperature.  It wasn't dangerous, but it reminded her that this fight wasn't over.

          The door opened and she turned to see Miles entering. She held up her hand to silence him, then pointed at Connor.  The young physician nodded his understanding and motioned for her to join him in the hallway.

          Finished with her notations, Natalie took one last look at her friends before going to find McCabe, shutting the door quietly behind her.

          "What's up?" she asked.

          "Have you noted any change in Frank's vitals over the past hour?" he asked, his expression for once giving nothing away.

          Durant nodded.  "A slight rise in temperature, BP and heart rate in both Frank and Vin, you?"

          "The same," Miles agreed.

          "But…?"  Natalie knew there had to be more.

          "The toxins are breaking down faster than we had expected, which means—"  He swallowed hard, unable to voice it.

          "Which means more of a strain on their already exhausted organs.  God, wouldn't I just love to get my hands on the bastard who let those mice out."  She rubbed her forehead, trying to come up with a solution.

          "You know if Frank were awake, he'd say it was a deliberate act, right?" Miles said, grinning tiredly.

          Natalie grinned wryly.  "Don't say that too loud.  Even out here he might still hear you, and then we'll never hear the end of it."

          McCabe glanced over at the closed door, his expression morphing into one of grief and exhaustion.  "I hope to God you're right, Nat.  That we never hear the end of it from him, I mean.  That'll prove he's alive."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Josiah looked up from his Bible when Ezra entered Vin's room.  The undercover man walked over to the second, empty chair near the bed and sank into it.

          "Any change?" Standish asked.

          Josiah shook his head.  "He's been unconscious the whole time.  The doctors have been coming in every twenty minutes to draw blood and check his vitals, but they're staying pretty closed-mouthed."

          Ezra nodded.  "I've tried to talk to the NIH doctors as well, but found them less than forthcoming."  The man glanced around the room.  "I rather expected Mr. Larabee to be here."

          Josiah nodded.  "Buck and I tried to convince him to go over to Buck and JD's place to get some sleep, but he's determined to stay.  Buck did get him to go get something to eat, though.  I suspect he'll be back any minute now."

          Ezra nodded.

          "You look like you could use some sleep as well, brother," Josiah added.

          The undercover man nodded.  "I could, but I shall sleep after Mr. Tanner is out of danger.  Until then, I wouldn't be able to rest anyway."

          "I hear that," Josiah said.  "Nathan stopped by a few minutes ago.  He went to see if he could find out anything new."

          "Well, once Nathan returns I will go and eat myself," Ezra said, his tone one of utter exhaustion.

          "I'll go with you," Josiah said.

          Ezra looked over at Vin.  "Do you honestly think he'll pull through this?"

          "He has to, brother," Josiah said simply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1130 Hours**

 

          Stephen woke with a start.  After realizing where he was, he wearily rubbed his eyes and then checked his watch.  He was shocked to discover that nearly two hours had passed.

          A moan from the bed captured Connor's attention and he bolted to his feet, leaning over his partner.

          "Frank, you awake?"  He squeezed Powell's hand gently.  "Come on, Frank, time to start waking up now."

          The other man didn't open his eyes, but he moaned and squeezed Stephen's hand again.

          With a frown, the physician noted the abnormal warmth in the man's hand.  Pulling a thermometer out of his pocket, he did a quick check.  He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to find it was 100.8.

          "Damn it," Connor growled.  Forcing the anger back, he said in a calmer tone, "Take it easy, Frank.  I'm going to go get something that should help.  I'll be right back."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          There was a slight hitch in the sound of the ventilator, and Nathan was immediately at Vin's beside, checking on the man.

          "What is it?" Chris asked, frowning, his heart already beginning to beat faster.

          "I think he's starting to come around," the Black man commented.  He leaned over Tanner, calling, "Vin?  Vin, you waking up?"

          The hitch sounded again.

          "Vin, it's Nathan.  I want you to listen to me, okay?  You're back at the lab, Vin.  You're doing fine.  The doctors have you on a ventilator, so I want you to just relax and stay calm.  Don't try to fight the machine, okay?  It's just there to take come of the strain off your body.  You're going to be fine."

          Chris shot the former medic a sharp look at that last, but he didn't say anything to contradict it.

          "That's it," Nathan encouraged, "you just rest.  Relax and let the machine do the work…  You're doing great, Vin…"

          Reaching out, Nathan pressed his palm to Vin's forehead.  He frowned again.

          "What?" Chris asked.

          "He's running a slight fever," Nathan replied.  He looked from Vin to Chris, adding, "You keep him calm.  I'm going to go find one of the NIH doctors."

          Chris nodded, stepping up to the bedside.  Nathan hurried from the room.

          Looking down at Vin, Larabee sighed softly, then reached out and lightly rubbed the man's arm.  "Glad you're waking up, pard," he said.  "I know that can't be fun, but the machine is your friend, so don't go fighting it."

          He reached down and took Vin's hand in his.  "You understand what we're telling you, Vin?  You need to relax, let the machine do the breathing for you."

          A weak squeeze of Vin's fingers was his reply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1215 Hours**

 

          At the moment, Frank's awareness was fuzzy at best, but he had enough coherence of thought to remember where he was, and why he was there.

          _I'm not dead…_ The thought felt neutral, giving him neither a feeling of relief nor regret.

          The beeping noise off to his left told him he wasn't quite out of the woods.  Not to mention the tube forcing air in and out of his lungs.  He wanted to fight it, but had been shocked when he'd realized he had no strength to do so.  Apparently the vent really was necessary.

 _Shit…_   That was pretty sobering.

          Out of the corner of his right eye, Powell caught a flash of blond hair.  Stephen.

He shifted a little more, trying to get a better look at the man.  When he did, he didn't like what he saw.  _Jesus, if I look half that bad—_

          The sudden pain in his foot robbed him of conscious thought and he instinctively fought the vent.  That set off an alarm, bringing Stephen to his feet in an instant.

          "Frank!"  Connor quickly studied the monitors, trying to discern the problem.  He reset the ventilator alarm and turned back to his partner, placing a hand on Frank's thigh as he leaned close to be in Powell's line of sight.

          "Hey, you okay?" he quietly asked.  Then he sighed, closing his eyes briefly.  "I know, lover, dumb question, right?"

          Frank nodded once, then lost his focus when another spasm hit.

          "Damn!" Conner growled, but this time he felt the cramp in the long muscles of the man's thigh, and realized what was happening.  He worked his fingers into the muscle until, finally, it relaxed.

Powell nearly whimpered with relief.

"Hang in there, Frank," Connor soothed.  He wished he thought this would be the worst of it, but he had a feeling it was going to be another long day.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Miles checked Vin's vitals against what was in his chart and smiled reassuringly at Buck and Chris.  "He's getting stronger."

          "When can he get off that machine?" Buck asked.  Seeing Vin on the ventilator was more than a little disturbing.

          "Soon," the doctor replied.  "I'm hoping we can get his fever down a little more first."

          A sudden alarm going off startled all three men.  Miles immediately swung back to Vin, his gaze sweeping over the equipment, trying to find the source of Tanner's discomfort.  The man's body twitched, his limbs jerking.

          Blue eyes blinked open, but Tanner's eyes were squinted with pain.

          "What hurts?" Miles asked, the question immediately bringing Chris and Buck to Vin's bedside.  "Can you point to it?"

          Vin lifted his arm, which shook from the effort, and pointed at his right leg, which twitched again.

          Miles ran his hands over Vin's thigh and down his shin, then reversed direction, rubbing back up his calf.  The alarm sounded and Tanner's leg jerked under the man's touch.

          "What's going on?" Chris demanded.

          "I think he has a muscle cramp," Miles replied, his fingers working the muscles.  "Yep, think that's it…  I can feel the spasm…"

          "Why's that happening?" Buck asked.

          "I'm not sure," Miles responded.  He looked at the two men.  "Look, I want you to each take a leg and just keep rubbing the muscles lightly.  I'm going to go grab a blood kit and get a sample so I can have his blood chemistry checked."

          "You just drew blood ten minutes ago," Chris argued.

          "Ten minutes ago he wasn't cramping up like this," Miles responded.

          Chris and Buck stepped, up, each of them taking a leg and rubbing it as they had seen Dr. McCabe do.

          "Hang in there, Junior," Buck encouraged.

          "Damn, I can feel the muscles knotting," Chris said, his fingers digging in a little harder.  He saw the corners of Vin's eyes relax a little and knew what he was doing was helping.

          A few moments later Miles returned, taking the blood sample, then leaving to have the tests run.

          Buck and Chris continued working on Vin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1400 Hours**

 

          Stephen leaned against the wall of Frank's room, flexing his cramping hands.  He watched in silence as Miles rubbed out Frank's latest spasm, this time from the man's arm.  The younger physician had come in a few minutes earlier to check on Frank and found Connor having trouble, so he'd offered his help.

          Connor knew he was operating on fumes at the moment, somewhere beyond exhaustion.  Every time he sat down, he nodded off.  And a few minutes later he either woke to a nightmare of Frank's death, or to the vent alarm, signaling the onset of yet another spasm.

          The cramps had been increasing in intensity, and frequency, and were now almost constant, leaving Frank totally spent.  McCabe had told him the other surviving patients were going through the same progression, and all of them were being closely monitored.

At this point no drug intervention was being considered.  The doctors had all agreed that there was no way to know how any new drugs might interact with the toxins, so it was better not to risk using them.

          "He's asleep again," Miles noted quietly.

          Stephen barely managed to nod.  "It won't last long, but at least it gives him some relief.  Thanks, Miles."

          The younger man nodded.  "I need to go see how the others are doing."

          "I know," Connor replied, watching as McCabe left.

Looking back at Frank, Stephen found himself strongly reminded of the Klebsiella ordeal.  That had ravaged Frank's system badly.  How much worse could this be?  Could Frank survive this so soon after?  It didn't bear thinking about.

          He took his seat again and, as before, he nodded off almost as soon as he sat down, only this time he managed to get twenty minutes of rest before another spasm hit.

          Over the course of the next hour he noted with relief that the severity and frequency of the muscle cramps were dropping off again.

          He and Frank dozed again until Natalie came in for the next vitals check.

          "His O2 sats are better," she noted.  Then, seeing that Frank was awake, she smiled.  "How'd you like to lose that tube?"

          She and Stephen worked quickly to remove the ventilator.  Frank coughed, groaning as his throat protested.

          Stephen handed him a cup of ice chips and, after swallowing a few, Powell rasped, "Thanks, Nat.  Makes me… feel better… already."

          Durant smiled and patted his arm.  "Glad to hear it.  Now, get some more rest, both of you!  Doctor's orders."

          "Nat… wait…"  Frank took a few more ice chips and chewed them.  "Other… survivors?"

          She looked quickly at Stephen before glancing back to Frank and nodding.  "You, Agent Tanner and some others.  All of you have varying degrees of toxins breaking down in your bodies, which is what's causing the muscle spasms."

          "Great.  What else?" he asked.

          "We're not exactly sure," Durant said.  "But some of the others have spiked high temps with aches similar to a severe case of the flu."

          Too tired to respond, Frank closed his eyes and turned his head away, but not before Natalie had seen the flash of fear in his expression.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Damn," Ezra cursed quietly as he felt yet another cramp seize Vin's bicep.

          Tanner groaned, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he rode out the spasm.  The doctors had taken him off the ventilator earlier, the constant alarms driving Vin, and the others, nearly crazy.

          "Dr. Durant said the others were doing this, too," Nathan said.  He was working on one of Vin's legs.

          "She said they were getting better.  Why isn't Vin?" JD asked.  He was across the bed from Ezra, working on Vin's other arm.

          "No way to tell from person to person how the toxins are going to break down," Nathan supplied.

          "Whoever came up with this idea for biological weapons ought to be forced to endure what Vin has," Ezra stated firmly.

          "It's an unholy calling," Josiah agreed.  He had Vin's other leg.

          Buck and Chris had left a few minutes before to find one of the doctors, their concern for Vin forcing them to seek out one of the NIH people.

          Vin groaned again, his head roiling from side to side.

          "Where?" Nathan asked.  So far, the cramps had struck the man's arms and legs, but he could tell that none of the others could find this current cramp.  Vin didn't reply, but his suddenly red cheeks told the former medic all he needed to know.  "Glutes?" he asked Tanner, who nodded.

          "Now that's what I call a real pain in the ass," Josiah stated, eyes twinkling.

          Vin's eyes opened and he chuffed out a weak laugh.  "Fuck you," he rasped.

          Josiah and Nathan both grinned as they reached under the man and began to attack the new cramps.


	19. Chapter 19

**1550 Hours**

 

          "Hot," Frank gasped, pushing at the covers.

          The voice pulled Stephen from the deepest sleep he had managed since this case had started.  Rubbing his eyes, he pushed to his feet to check on his partner.  Pressing the back of his hand to Powell's forehead, he was startled at the heat he found there.

"Damn."  Hurrying into the small attached bathroom, Connor grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cold water.  Wringing it out just slightly, he returned to the bed and placed it on Frank's forehead.  "I'll be right back," he promised.

          Stephen could have used the call button, but he needed to move _._ As much as the thought pained him, he needed some time away from Frank, and he wanted to talk with Natalie and Miles out of range of his lover's hearing.  He needed to know how the other survivors were dealing with this latest obstacle.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "My God, he's hot," Buck complained, shaking his head.

          Across from him Nathan worked to drape damp washcloths and towels over Vin's chest, arms, and legs while Ezra positioned a small fan so it would blow onto Vin, helping to keep him cool.

          "Hurts," Vin whimpered.  He was sitting up in his bed, leaning back against Chris, who was rubbing his neck and shoulders.

          "Easy," Larabee said quietly.

          "Fever's how your body's trying to destroy the toxins," Nathan told him.  "The clothes helping?"

          "Cooler," Vin rasped, his voice sounding weaker than any of the others could ever remember.  "But it hurts… all over…"

          Nathan nodded.  "I know.  I'm sorry, but they still don't want to give you anything."

          "When will it… stop?" Vin asked, blue eyes begging Nathan to tell him it wouldn't be much longer.

          "I just don't know," Nathan replied sadly.

          Chris looked from Buck to Nathan to Ezra and he said, "You've done all you can for now.  Go grab some sleep," he told them.

          The three men didn't argue.  Since they had no way of knowing how long Vin's ordeal might last, they knew they had to grab whatever sleep they could, whenever they could.

          The threesome left, leaving Chris alone with Vin for the first time since he had taken Tanner out to die.

          "Chris…" Vin said as soon as the door fell shut.

          "I'm right here," Larabee replied.

          "Wanted t' thank ya…"

          "For what?"

          "Fer takin' me out t' die…"

          "Probably shouldn't have," the blond responded.  "Would've been better if you'd been here, so they could've helped you faster.  Maybe this wouldn't be so bad if—"

          "Needed t' be outside…"

          "But you didn't die."

          "Think maybe I did."

          Chris felt himself shudder at the admission.  "Vin, you need to save your strength—"

          "Saw what I did t' ya, Cowboy…  Never meant t' hurt ya…"

          "Shh," Chris replied, not ready to talk about the pain he'd felt when he'd thought he'd lost Vin.

          "Y'all are family," Vin said.  "Love y' like brothers, but yer somethin' special t' me, Chris… Love y' so damn much it hurts…"

          "Vin, rest," Chris said, his voice thick with emotion.

          "Y' stay with me?" Vin asked.

          "You know I will."

          One corner of Vin's mouth curled up.  "Yeah…"

          "I love you, too," Larabee whispered.  "Can't lose you, Vin.  You remember that…"

          Vin nodded, knowing he'd keep fighting as long as he was alive.  There was no way he was going to hurt Chris like that again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1615 Hours**

 

          "Stephen, you're about to fall over.  You would've fallen over if you weren't leaning against a wall.  You're not fooling me for a second," Natalie chided.  "Frank's fever is down to a manageable level now.  Why don't you get some rest?  You know we'll call you if anything changes."

          Connor crossed his arms, trying to look defiant, but not managing it through the exhaustion.  Still, he couldn't give up without a fight.

          "He needs me, Nat.  What if—?"

          "Of course he needs you, Stephen.  But he needs you on your feet and fighting alongside him, not flat on your back in the next room," Durant said, trying to reason with the stubborn man.

          "All right, but you promise—"

          "I promise!"  She held up her hand as if taking an oath.  "Now… go.  Sleep."

          Usually plagued by insomnia to some degree, this time Stephen barely managed to crawl into the unoccupied bed before he fell asleep.  And if he dreamed, he wasn't aware of it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris was roused from sleep by an agonized cry from Vin.  He was immediately on his feet and moving toward the bed.

          Josiah and Ezra beat him there.

          "Vin, what is it?" the profiler asked.

          "Hurts!" the man hissed.  "Cramp!"

          "Where?" Ezra asked.

          "Back!" Vin cried, arching up off the bed.

          Chris immediately shouldered past the two men and lifted Vin, sliding in behind him and starting to work on the man's back while the other two set to work on his arms and legs, all of them oblivious to their own aching hands.

          These cramps struck quicker than the first, and lasted longer, reducing Vin to an aching, quivering, boneless wreck.

          "This cannot be allowed to continue," Ezra said when they finally hit a lull.  "I'll go find one of the doctors."

          He hurried out, leaving Chris and Josiah to deal with the next attack.

          Vin ground his teeth together and fought the pain, but there was nothing he could do to escape it.  Tears leaked from the corners of his tightly squeezed eyes.

          "Easy," Chris whispered into his ear.  "Hang in there."

          Vin whimpered.  He wanted to fight, but he was so damn tired, and it hurt so much.  He wasn't sure he could fight, not if it this kept up.  All he wanted right now was to die and end the agony.

          The door opened and Dr. McCabe and Ezra hurried back in.

          Miles rushed to the bedside, checking Vin's vitals and then his temperature, which was back down under one hundred again.  "Cramps?" he asked.

          Chris nodded.  "You have to give him something."

          Dr. McCabe shook his head.  "The toxins—"

          "I don't give a fuck about the toxins," Larabee growled dangerously.  "He can't keep going through this."

          Just looking at Tanner, Miles knew the man was telling him the truth.  "Okay, I'll go get him a muscle relaxant and some pain med," he said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was just about 1745 hours when the call button for Frank's room was activated.  Miles was making notes on Agent Tanner's chart when he saw the indicator light go on.  Turning to the nurse at the desk, he said, "It's okay, I'll take it."

          Hurrying to Powell's room, McCabe opened the door and stepped inside.  The groan he heard made his hair stand on end.

          "Frank?  Talk to me…  What's going on?" he asked, walking over to the bedside and hoping he wasn't facing the cramps again like Vin had been.

          "Cramps… again…" Powell gasped, his eyes squeezed shut.

          "Okay, let's see if I can help with that."  As Miles searched out the knotting muscles, he asked, "Better or worse than earlier?"

          "Worse."  Frank moaned in relief as the muscle finally relaxed.  "Lasts… longer."

          "Damn," McCabe muttered.  "Okay, I'm going to go get you something that will help.  Agent Tanner is going through the same thing."  He hurried to the hall, catching a nurse and asking her get him the muscle relaxant and the pain medication, then ducked back into the room, going to work to try and rub out Frank's next cramp.

When she the nurse returned, he administered the drugs and said, "Now, try to get some more rest."

          The man made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.  "Was that… joke?"  Frank shook his head. "Never mind…  Stephen?"

          "I'll get him for you."  Glad for something to do that took him away from his friend's suffering, Miles headed quickly for the door.

          "No…  Sleeping, right?"  Powell was getting agitated now.  "Needs… sleep…"

          "Yes, he is, but he needs you more, Big Guy.  And he'd kill me if I didn't let him know."  With a wink, McCabe walked out into the hall.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**2002 Hours**

          Stephen sat on the edge of the bed, wiping his partner with a damp cloth.  The man's fever that had spiked dangerously high just an hour ago, then had broken once more.  Frank was out again, either asleep or unconscious, Stephen wasn't really sure which.

          _How much more can he take?_ he wondered.  _And the others, too.  God, I haven't even asked Miles or Nat how any of them are doing…_

          While Connor knew he would have been notified if there were any fatalities, he couldn't help wonder if the others were as bad off as Frank; or, dear God, even worse.

          "Stephen—"

          Connor winced.  Frank's voice was a whisper of its usual strength.

          "I'm here, lover, right here," he said, grasping his lover's hand to prove it.

          "Tired… hurt…"

          "I know, babe, I know.  I'm here.  Just hold on to me, okay?" Stephen asked.  "I won't let go."

          "Oh… God," Frank whispered, pulling his hand free.

          "Frank?"

          Powell went rigid, his whole body appearing to be in spasm this time.

          "Jesus," Connor murmured, his stomach clenching.  "Ride it out, Frank.  Go with it.  That's it.  Don't fight it.  You'll get through it.  Just hang on."

          The words sounded hollow and pointless even to Stephen and when Powell finally relaxed it was with a weak moan of pain.

Connor bolted from the room.  He made it to the small restroom two doors down and fell to the floor in front of the commode, retching helplessly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris watched as Vin's entire body seized in a kind of all-consuming rictus of pain.  Tanner's eyes were clenched shut, his fingers curled into the sheets, moaning, he knew, to keep from screaming.

          Tanner's body shook, sweat rolling off his skin.  The fever, which had spiked again, had already broken, but this full-body cramp seemed determined to wring the life from the man.

          And, for the first time since this had begun, Chris prayed that Vin be allowed to die.  Anything to spare him more pain.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**2110 Hours**

 

          Frank swallowed against the nausea, hoping it was just a passing thing and that he could will it away.  It worked and he relaxed, only to suffer another bout minutes later.  He closed his eyes, not wanting to give in to it.  He was already sore and he knew throwing up would only add to his misery.

          Eva was his watchperson at the moment.  He vaguely remembered Stephen making a fast exit from the room, but he had no idea when that had been, or why.  What he did know was that he had no intention of losing his dignity in front of the team's PR liaison.

          Seeing he was awake, she smiled.  "Hey, Frank."

          "Hey…"  He managed a weak grin in return.  "Got stuck… babysitting, huh?"

          "Just looking out for a friend," she corrected him.

          "Not… good company," Powell warned her.

          "Don't worry about that."  She picked up a cup with a straw.  "Would you like some water?"

          Frank's stomach rolled at the idea and he shook his head, but that only made the nausea worse.  He swallowed several times and panted.

          Recognizing the signs, Eva hit the call button.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When Stephen emerged from the restroom, he almost literally bumped into Natalie, Miles, and two of the lab physicians, all of whom were in a heated discussion about the risks versus the benefits of administering drugs to help with the fever and muscle spasms.

          As a physician, Connor knew that the addition of drugs carried a high risk of complicating things with all the unknowns their patients faced.  But as a lover of one of those patients he was willing to take the chance if it meant some relief for Frank and the others.

          "Dr. Connor, what's your opinion on this?" Dr. Saguaro asked, turning to address Stephen.

          The blond sighed, jamming his hands into his pockets.  "As much as I'm tempted to relieve some of the symptoms, I'm concerned that by doing so we might prolong their misery," he responded.

          "It's too late," Miles said, his gaze flicking from Natalie to Connor.  "I already gave Agent Tanner and Frank a muscle relaxant and some pain meds."

Stephen wasn't sure how he felt about that, and knew he was too tired to pass judgment on Miles now.  "The faster the toxins can be processed, the better their chances of a full recovery."

          " _If_ they survive the damned toxins," a voice growled from behind them.

          Recognizing the voice, Connor clamped his mouth shut, knowing that anything he said would likely trigger the ATF team leader's temper right now.

          "Agent Larabee—" Miles began.

          "Vin just passed out again," Larabee told them.  "He started pukin' half an hour ago, and every time he does, it leaves him weaker than the last.  How much more are these people supposed to take before you quit standing around and do something to help them?"

          That was too much, and Stephen's control snapped.  He stepped in between Larabee and McCabe, glaring at the agent.  "Enough," he snapped, taking a step forward and forcing Larabee to take one back.  "I've had enough of your accusations.  It ends now!  Everyone here knows how much Agent Tanner is suffering, just like we know how much Frank and the others are suffering."  He took another step forward.  "It's no easier on a nurse or a doctor to watch this than it is for you.  If anything it's harder, because we're sworn to save lives and alleviate suffering.  Do you honestly think it doesn't rip our guts out, knowing we can't do more for these people?"

          Suddenly embarrassed by his outburst, Connor backed off a step.  Glancing around, he saw the corridor behind them had cleared.  Probably Natalie's doing, he knew.  He'd have to thank her later.

          Larabee cleared his throat, bringing Connor's attention back to him.  "You're right.  I've been so focused on Vin I wasn't thinking about the others.  Are any of them getting any better?"

          Connor shook his head regretfully.  "No, not yet.  The levels of the toxins are still climbing, but at least it's a much slower rate.  I wish I had better news for you.  For now, keeping Agent Tanner hydrated is all we can really do.  And if the muscle relaxants and pain meds are helping, fine, we'll keep using them.  And if he can't keep the water down, we'll try ice chips, or popsicles with anti-nausea medicine."

          "Vin's got one hell of a sweet tooth," Chris admitted.  "We've used Slurpees in the past.  Is that okay?"

          "Right now, if it helps, I won't say no," Stephen admitted.  "If you'll excuse me, I have to go check on Frank again."

          Larabee nodded, watching as the man walked off.  For a doctor, Stephen Connor was pretty damned tough.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ezra slipped into Vin's room.  "Any change?" he asked hopefully.

Josiah shook his head.  "He's still throwing up every few minutes, even though there's nothing in his stomach.  Then he cramps up and passes out."

The undercover man sighed.

"They hung an extra bag of fluids," Josiah went on, "and Nathan's out looking for someone.  He spotted blood in Vin's urine."

"Lord have mercy," Standish sighed.  "What next?"

"I have no idea," Josiah admitted.

"Where's Chris?"

"He had to get some air," Josiah said.  "Much longer and I was afraid he might…"

Ezra nodded his understanding.  They had all seen how close to the line Chris was walking at the moment.  "If Vin doesn't make it…"

"We'll cross that bridge if we have to," Josiah replied, his voice sounding as tired as he looked.


	20. Chapter 20

**2240 Hours**

          Natalie performed Frank's vitals check as she had countless times over the past few days.  They were no more encouraging than they had been.  If anything, they were more worrying.

          Stephen sat on the bed, opposite Natalie, holding Frank's lax hand.

          If Powell was aware of either of them he gave no sign.

          "His fever is spiking again, and his blood pressure is on the rise," Stephen noted dully.

          Durant nodded.  She wished she didn't have to share the next bit of information, but Connor had every right to know.  "He's progressed to the next stage, Stephen.  There's blood in his urine."

          The blond man closed his eyes.  He had been expecting this since hearing that some of the other survivors, including Vin Tanner, were passing blood as well.  Whether it was a result of the toxins causing kidney damage, no one was really sure.

          "He's still vomiting, too," Connor finally added.  "And he complained that his headache was getting worse.  I'm surprised he's out, to be honest."

          Natalie made a note on Powell's chart, wishing there was something she could do to ease this nightmare.  "I'm sorry, Stephen," she whispered, blinking back tears.

          He managed a weak smile in return.  "I know, Nat.  We just have to hope the toxin levels peak soon, and that they're strong enough to hold on until they do."  He looked at her more closely.  "You need to get some rest.  That's an order."

          She nodded.  "Miles and Dr. Saguaro are resting now.  They'll relieve us in an hour."

          "An hour—?"  Connor nodded.  "Good.  Make sure they do."

          Reaching out and gently squeezing Frank's leg, Natalie whispered, "Hang in there, Frank.  I'll be back to check on you a little later."

          As she left, Stephen pondered her words.  An hour – so much could happen in an hour.  Frank could die in an hour.  Or, the toxin levels could decrease and his condition could improve.  There was no way to tell which way it would go, and no way to insure a favorable outcome.

          Out in the hall, Natalie, who had never been a personal believer in prayer, was beginning to think that now might be a good time to start.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**2350 Hours**

          The sound of glass shattering against a hard surface broke the stillness of the otherwise quiet floor.  Natalie winced, knowing that had to be about the third or fourth item sacrificed to the cause.

          "Nat, what's going on?" Eva approached, frowning.  "Sounds like someone's trashing a lab."

          "Close," the older woman said grimly.  "We just lost a patient.  Someone Stephen thought would pull through, but apparently he had some risk factors for heart disease.  The strain was too much and—"

          "Oh, God."  Eva paled.  Pointing to the closed door, she asked, "Is that Stephen?"

          "Yes.  Know any good sources of china mugs in Colorado?" Natalie wondered.

          Before Eva could respond, two of the ATF agents came running down the hall.  Natalie recognized them as Josiah and Bill… no Beau… oh, wait, Buck.

          "Ma'am, we had a report of a disturbance on this floor," Buck said.  He flinched as a loud crash was heard coming from behind the door.  "Is, uh, everything okay?"

          "Not really," Natalie said and grimaced.  "But it's nothing that you can fix."

          Seeing their puzzled looks, Eva quietly explained, "One of the resuscitated patients died."

          The agents exchanged shocked glances, both men going pale.  Josiah opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Natalie hastened to reassure him, saying, "It's not Agent Tanner, or Frank, but the man was relatively young and it took us by surprise.  Stephen…"  She nodded at the closed door.  "…is taking it especially hard.  The man was one of his patients initially."

          "Damn," Buck muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.  "We'd better go look in on Chris and Vin."

          Josiah nodded.  To the women he said, "If you'll pardon us, ladies?"

          Once they were out of earshot, Natalie said, "Would you mind relieving Miles for a while?  He really needs to get some sleep.  I'm going to wait here a little longer, see if I can help Stephen."

          "Sure."  Eva dredged up a faint smile.  "Just make sure you poke a stick in the room before you go in."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When they returned to Vin's room it was to find Chris sitting in the dark.

          "Chris?" Buck called.

          A sharp gasp, followed by a moan.  The next moment, the two men were being ushered out of the room by Larabee.

          Once they were in the hall the blond asked, "What was going on?"

          "They lost a patient," Josiah said.  "Seems Dr. Connor prefers your approach to expressing his frustration."

          When Larabee frowned, Buck added, "He was trashing one of the kitchens."

          That actually brought a small smile to Larabee's lips.  "Glad to know I'm not alone.  Who was it?"

          "We don't know," Josiah admitted.  "But it wasn't their team member."

          "What's wrong with Vin?" Buck asked.

          Chris shook his head.  "Fever broke, or so Nathan thinks.  And he hasn't had a cramp in a while, but his head's killing him."

          "That why the lights were off?" Buck asked, glancing worriedly in the direction of the room.

          Chris nodded.  "He can't stand the light, or any loud noises."

          "Sounds like a migraine," Josiah stated.

          "I'll go see if they have anything that might help," Buck said, already starting away.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Natalie remained the hallway after the two ATF agents left, and when things had been quiet for five minutes, she knocked on the closed door.  When she got no response she cautiously opened it, her eyes going wide at the devastation she saw.

          Unrecognizable bits of ceramic and china littered almost every square inch of the floor. And, sitting in one of the chairs, was the man responsible, his eyes glazed and shadowed, his face as pale as some of their patients.  His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, and Natalie gasped when she saw blood dripping from the left one.

          "Stephen!  My God, your hand…"  Carefully making her way through the debris, Durant reached out for Connor's injured hand.  He let her see it, but otherwise did not react to her presence.

          "His fever spiked again, Nat – even higher than the last."  Stephen's voice was raw with emotion.  "I feel like we're back at that damned ice station all over again.  Maybe not the same symptoms, but it's still killing him, inch by inch."

          "I know," she responded.  Taking a quick look around the kitchen, she discovered a nicely stocked first aid kit by the sink.  Pulling out the items she needed, Natalie returned to her friend.

          "We're going to lose him."  Connor's voice cracked, and tears ran unchecked down his cheeks.  "If not to the fever, than from the strain of the spasms or—  It can't go on much longer.  Look at Joe Reece."

          "Stephen—"

          The blond shook his head.  "It's not working.  This has all been for nothing, and we're going to lose him.  All of them."  He took a shuddering breath.  "I— I can't do this anymore."

          Natalie blinked back her own tears.  As much as she wanted to believe it was simply exhaustion talking, she couldn't be sure.  Still, she wasn't letting him give up on Frank just yet.

          "Hey, Joe Reece had a preexisting heart condition.  On its own it wouldn't have impacted his life for years, but under the strain of the organism, the resuscitation, and the toxins it was too much for him.  It doesn't mean it's going to happen to the others."

          "It's my worst nightmare… what I've fought so hard to stop."  Stephen's voice cracked again.  "I'm going to lose someone I love to a disease I couldn't stop."  More tears fell down his face.

          Unable to find any words of comfort, Natalie pulled him into a hug and held on tight.  "It could happen," she finally agreed.  "But don't count Frank out just yet.  He's pretty damned stubborn where you're concerned."

          The watery sound Stephen produced could have been a laugh or a sob.  Natalie would have bet money it was a combination of both.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**Sunday, 0111 Hours**

 

          It was like watching a horror movie that just wouldn't end, Miles decided as he worked over Agent Tanner.  If someone had asked him, he would have told them that there was good news and bad.

          The good news, he knew, was the fact that the vomiting had come to a sudden end when Tanner's fever had spiked again to life threatening levels – bad news.

They had used every trick available to them to bring Vin's temperature down, and something, or some combination of things, had worked.

          So, the fever was down, and the vomiting was over, but now Vin – and several of the other patients – was suffering with chills.  None of them reported feeling cold, though, just aching, hurting.  Their bodies shook like they had chills, though, and their migraines hung on as well.

          But the best news he'd gotten in a while was the report that the toxin level had finally begun to fall.  If they could all just hold on a little longer, it might just be that the worst was over.  But they were all exhausted, their vitals weak.

          Glancing around at the other six men in the room, he could see that they were all exhausted as well.  But they were all determined to be there for their friend…

          He wished, not for the first time, that he could spend more time with Frank, but he knew he couldn't.

          Taking a step back, he used a penlight to make comments to Tanner's chart as he listened to the man's teeth chattering.

          "Easy," he heard Larabee sooth.

          "Hurts," Vin managed.

          "I know, but you have to hang on," Chris said.

          "Kind a… wishin'… I'd died… out there…"

          "Kind a wished that, too," Chris said honestly, "but you didn't, and I'm grateful."

          "Hurts…"

          "I know…  Vin, you know you can let go.  I don't want you to suffer like this…"

          "Can't," was Tanner's strained reply.

          "I don't want you to hold on for me, for any of us…"

          "All I got t' hold on to…"

          "You've suffered enough."

          "Can't," was Vin's simple reply.

          Not wanting to invade their privacy any longer, Miles slipped silently from the room, praying he never had to hear anything like that again.  But he knew in that instant exactly what Connor and Frank were going through, and he knew Frank's answer would be exactly the same.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**0130 Hours**

 

          Eva could pinpoint exactly when she had last been this scared.  It had been in January, and she had been at the Air Force base in Greenland, waiting for word from Natalie or Stephen about Frank's condition after he'd gotten sick from the same bacteria that had been killing the researchers.

          At the time, she'd thought she'd been the most worried she ever could be.  Now she knew that was wrong.  There was a level or three beyond where she had been then.

          She had come in to sit with Frank while Natalie had picked up the pieces after Stephen's explosion – literally and figuratively.  It had seemed the lesser of two evils then.

          Now, she wasn't so sure.

          Frank had stopped throwing up about forty-five minutes ago.  But, according to Miles, his temperature was on the rise again.  And the shivers that racked his body made her want to clench her jaw in sympathy.  Except that they weren't due to him being chilled.  They were slightly different forms of muscle spasms.

          He was only semi-conscious now, and the only indication he was aware at all were the soft moans of pain that Powell couldn't seem to contain.

The room had been dimmed, and a damp cloth placed over his eyes.  Natalie had recognized the signs of a worsening headache from having been with him at the ice station.

          The door opened and Stephen walked in.  Eva moved to get up, but he waved her back into her seat.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and took Frank's hand in his, squeezing it gently.

          "Ste'en?"

          "Who else has been holding your hand?" Connor joked.  It was lame, but it was the best he could manage.

          "Hurz…" Powell slurred.

          The muscles in Stephen's jaw clenched, but he gently disentangled his hand from his partner's and removed the cloth, handing it to Eva.  "Would you mind—?"

          "Of course."  She hurried into the bathroom to rinse the cloth in cold water.

          Taking advantage of Eva's absence, Stephen leaned closer and kissed Frank's cheek.  "I love you," he whispered.  "But I've realized I don't have the right to ask you to stay through this hell, Frank."  His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat.

          Eva took her time in the bathroom.  She couldn't hear Connor speaking, but figured she had no place out there right now.

          Given how weak Frank was, she wouldn't be surprised if Connor was saying good-bye.  The thought brought tears to her eyes.  From the time she had joined the NIH and been assigned to Stephen Connor's team, Frank Powell had been like the big brother she'd never had.  She couldn't imagine her life without him anymore.

          In the room, Connor continued his one-sided conversation.

          "I'll understand if you choose to… leave, Frank.  I honestly don't know if I could have made it as long as you—"  An unexpectedly fierce squeeze to his hand shocked Stephen into silence and he looked up at Frank.  To his surprise, dull brown eyes were watching him.

          "Not… giving… up," Frank whispered.  Those few words exhausted him and it was another minute before he could continue.  "Wanted… to.  Can't… leave… love…"

          Stephen sobbed, but quickly swallowed it, fighting for control.

          Eva took that as a sign to leave.  Knowing Connor would be focused on Frank, she slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.  She took a steadying breath, trying to get hold of her own emotions.

          "Eva, you okay?" Natalie asked as she reached her, a worried frown on her face.  "Is it Frank?"

          "Yes… no.  I—"  The younger woman shook her head, her eyes bright with tears.  "Why them, Natalie?  They're so good together!  And yet this is the second time Stephen's nearly lost him.  He still might!"

          Natalie's expression lost some of its grimness and she actually smiled.  "Maybe not… don't count them out yet, Eva."

          "What do you mean?  What's going on?"

          "The most recent blood tests on the others show the toxin production levels are slowing dramatically," Durant explained.  "In two cases, the rate is zero and, along with it, the levels of the toxin in the blood are falling off."

          "Oh my God!" Eva gasped.  "That's good news, right?"

          "Yes, it is.  I was on my way to tell Stephen and to get a sample from Frank."  Holding up the empty vial, Natalie said, "Keep good thoughts."

          The younger woman nodded, managing a tired grin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**0237 Hours**

 

          Stephen smiled as he removed the thermometer and read it.

          "102.1… hard to believe that's an improvement," he said.  "But that's down nearly a degree in twenty minutes."

          "Believe me… feels better," Frank answered.  His voice was still weak, but he was awake and aware; a big improvement from just an hour or so ago.

          "I bet it does."  Stephen fussed with the pillows and the covers, making sure his lover was as comfortable as possible.  "How are you feeling overall?"

          "Been through… the wringer," Powell admitted.  "Ache… head to toe.  But… I'm still here."

          "Yeah, you are."  The blond grinned, then leaned down for a quick, chaste kiss.  "Get some rest, lover.  You're more than earned it."

          He sat, holding Frank's hand until the other man dropped into a peaceful rest.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Shoving the hair off his forehead, Chris walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains.  He cracked the pane open, allowing in the air as well.  Behind him, Vin lay quietly sleeping.

          A cold chill snaked down Larabee's back.  Vin had regained consciousness a short ago only to be assaulted with body-racking spasms as his system fought the last of the toxins as they broke down.  Nothing they had tried had eased the man's suffering and, at one point, he'd thought he'd lost Vin for a second time.

          Chris closed his eyes, trying to push the images away, but they refused to budge.

He'd asked the others to go and had been sitting behind Vin, letting the younger man lean back against him and rest while he rubbed the sniper's tired and tense shoulder muscles.  Some part of him had thought he could convince Vin to let go, to slip into that light for a second time, but Tanner had refused, again.

          They had been talking quietly about Vin's experience after he had "died" the first time when, suddenly, he fell silent and slumped forward.

Chris' trembling fingers had missed the pulse still beating in his neck and he'd thought that death had claimed Vin after all.

Dr. McCabe found them twenty minutes later, Chris a complete wreck, sure that he'd really lost the man for good this time.  But it was only exhaustion that had forced Vin into a deep sleep and, together, they had managed to rouse him.

          Dr. Durant had just stopped by to tell him that the toxins had dropped to a low enough level that they were no longer a threat.

          But just the memories of Vin's suffering sent a new surge of raw panic coursing through Larabee's already-frazzled nerves and he shook like a quake-rattled windowpane.  It had been so close.  So very, very close…

          But Vin had hung on, fighting through the pain and the cramping muscles, the vomiting and the migraines, refusing to give up even when Chris had reached the point where he _wanted_ Tanner to succumb – if simply to spare himself the continuing agony.  It wasn't fair.  Vin had suffered enough.  If death was his only escape, then he deserved it.  After all, he'd said he'd been so happy to see his mother…

          But how could he have wished the man dead?  Vin was his friend, his _best_ friend, his lover… the man he loved a deeply as he'd loved Sarah.

          Vin hadn't given up, but _he_ had…

          Guilt weighed heavily on Larabee's shoulders, and he forced himself back to the edge of the bed.

          A wild, incomprehensible maelstrom of emotions spiraled through the blond, increasing his anxiety.  He wanted to reach out and rest his hand on the man's lightly-rising and falling chest – to assure himself that what he was seeing was real – but, at the same time, he wanted to wring Tanner's neck for having put him through this ordeal.

          He wanted to stand inside the circle of Vin's arms and cry like a child, like he had when Sarah and Adam had been killed.  And he wanted to shove him away, as far away as possible, so he couldn't be hurt like that again.

          So many people in his life had died – his parents, Sarah, Adam – and he'd wished the same on Vin…  What kind of friend, or brother, or lover did that make him?

          With a whispered curse, Chris spun and fled the room.


	21. Chapter 21

**0347 Hours**

 

          Natalie couldn't help smiling as she studied Frank's latest lab results.  His toxin levels, like the others', were falling fast now.  In fact, they were almost non-existent.  She pushed open the door to his room, unsurprised to see him sleeping soundly.

          Stephen looked up and saw her, and before she could open her mouth to speak, he held up his hand to silence her, motioning her out to the hallway.  Durant nodded her understanding and he followed her, closing the door softly behind them.

          "Sorry about that.  He's only been asleep a little while and he really needs the rest."

          "Of course."  Natalie frowned.  "Is he having trouble sleeping?"

          "Staying asleep," Stephen clarified.  At her look, he continued, "Dreams, I think, or maybe memories of… when he died.  I'm not sure."  He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.

          "How's the headache?"

          "Mine or his?" the blond quipped.  Relenting at her exasperated glare, he answered, "He says it's there, but much better.  At least that's not what's waking him up."

          "And his urine output?"

          That made Connor frown.  "Still too much blood.  How are the others doing?"

          Natalie hesitated.  She had hoped he wouldn't ask her that; she'd wanted to spare him the news.

          "C'mon, Nat.  I feel like I've been out of touch.  Hell, I _am_ out of touch!  Talk to me."

          She nodded.  "Okay, there's been a drop in blood for several patients, but two have increased.  We're waiting for test results now."

          "Damn."  Connor raked his fingers through his hair.  "I feel like I should've been there, Nat."

          "Hey, you were right where you needed to be – with Frank," she said.  "You wouldn't have been able to concentrate on anything else, and you know it.  Besides, if we had really needed you, we all knew where you were."

          Somewhat mollified, Stephen nodded.

          "Go back in and sit with him.  He'll rest easier if you're there.  One of us will check back in with you in another hour or so."  Natalie looked at him closely.  "And it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to get some rest, too."

          Stephen considered a smart-ass remark, but he'd used up his quotient for a while.  With a weary nod, he opened the door and walked back into the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vin blinked his eyes open and glanced around the room.  One window was open, a light breeze stirring the curtain.  Josiah was sitting in a chair, snoring softly.

          "J'siah," he called quietly, unable to out more force behind it, but it was enough.

          The profile grunted and sat up, looking around as if in a daze.  Then his eyes cleared and he stood, making his way to Vin's bed.  "You all right, son?"

          Vin nodded.  "Water?" he asked.

          Josiah helped him take a drink, then sat the cup aside and asked, "How do you feel?"

          "Like shit," was the honest reply.  "Hurt all over, but it ain't crampin'."

          "And the headaches?"

          "Almost gone…  Ain't even a good hangover now," Vin replied.

          That made the older man smile and he reached out and pushed the hair off Tanner's forehead like he was a child.  "I'm damn glad to hear that."

          "Where's Chris?" he asked.

          "Sleeping, I hope," Josiah replied.  "Do you want me to see if I can find him?"

          Vin rolled his head back and forth.  "If he's sleepin' let 'im."

          "You need anything?"

          "Some more water?"

          "I can do that," Josiah said, reaching for the cup again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**0415 Hours**

          Miles opened the door to Frank's room and quietly entered.  Both Frank and Stephen were sound asleep and McCabe saw no reason to disturb them.  They needed the rest, badly.  If Frank was able to sleep it meant his headache had to be getting better.  And the amount of blood in his urine was definitely falling off.

          Noting from the displays that Frank's vitals were settling into the normal ranges, Miles smiled.  It Looked like they might just beat this, after all.

          "Sleep well, guys," he whispered as he exited.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**0550 Hours**

 

          Stephen woke with a start, then swallowed a groan.  He was getting too old to sleep in a chair.  The memory of why he was doing so returned in a rush and he looked up to see dark eyes watching him with amusement.

          "Enjoying the show?" he grumbled.  "How long have you been awake?"

          "A few minutes," Powell said.  He looked longingly at the pitcher of water on the bedside table.  "Does that have anything in it?"

          "Yeah."  Connor got up and poured some water into a cup and added a straw.  "Can you manage it yourself?"

          Frank tried to lift his arm, wincing at the immediate protest he got from his abused muscles.  "Damn.  Guess not."

          Stephen held the cup close while his partner sipped eagerly.  He set it aside before Powell could drink too much.

          Checking the output bag, Connor grinned.  "Never thought much of yellow before, Frank.  It suits you."

          "Fuck you… just wait until I get out of this bed," the other man growled.  He winced as he attempted to move his legs.  "Damn, I didn't know you could hurt this bad and not have anything broken or torn."

          Stephen winced in sympathy.  "Now that you're out of danger we can do something more about that."  He leaned down and gave his lover a quick kiss.  "I'll be right back with some relief, okay?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**0700 Hours**

 

          "…and everyone is resting comfortably now," Natalie said, smiling.

          The NIH team had gathered in Frank's room for a brief visit and Natalie was updating Connor on the latest news that she had just delivered to Agent Larabee and his team in Vin's room.

          "Have all the patients been checked for ligament damage or fractures?" Stephen wondered.

          "We've noted a few patients who should have X-rays and Kate is sending an orthopedic specialist to look everyone over, just to be sure," Miles answered.

          "Blood chemistry?  Organ damage?" Connor queried.

          "Hey, hey."  Frank couldn't use his limbs, but his voice had recovered enough to catch everyone's attention.  "They know their jobs, Stephen.  Cut them a break."

          The blond had the grace to look abashed.  After all, Natalie, Miles and the other doctors had done a superb job through this crisis.

          "You're right, Frank," he said.  Turning to Nat and Miles, he said, "Great work, both of you."

          Eva had been standing by quietly, enjoying the almost normal by-play.  But there was one question that hadn't been answered to her satisfaction.

          "So…. does that mean it's over?" she asked hopefully.

          "Yeah."  Connor grinned widely.  "Yeah, it's finally over."

          "Good, then you need to go get some real sleep," Frank said.  "In a real bed."

          "Sleep.  That would be nice," Connor admitted.

          "Then go.  I'll be here when you come back."

          Stephen opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it.  His eyes were suspiciously bright again and the others were watching.

          "Okay, we're going to go… find something to do," Eva said, heading to the door after a quick head jerk aimed at Natalie and Miles.  The pair followed her out.

          "That girl needs to work on subtle," Frank commented, then he looked back at Stephen and said, "Hey, what's going on in that blond head?  Stephen?  Talk to me, lover."

          "I thought we'd lost you.  I mean, really lost you, Frank," Connor whispered.  "After you were resuscitated… every time I closed my eyes for the first couple of hours, I dreamed we couldn't get you back."

          Powell cleared his throat.  "And now?"

          Stephen blinked several times to clear his vision.  After a long minute, he finally answered.  "Now I'm afraid that if I leave, I'll wake up and discover that _this_ is a dream.  That we really _did_ lose you."  He shook his head.  "I don't— I couldn't take it, Frank."

          "I know, babe, I know.  It's why I came back."  Frank squeezed Stephen's hand with what little force he could manage.  "Couldn't leave you like that.  Especially not like that."

          Stephen nodded.  Speech was beyond him at the moment, but he mouthed, "Thanks."

          "Now, help me move over."

          "Wha—?"  The physician blinked in confusion.

          "This ain't no regular hospital, and I don't see no rules posted about sharing beds.  You know I don't sleep well on my own anymore, so get your ass in here," Frank demanded, grinning.  "That way we can _both_ get some decent sleep."

          A matching grin lit Connor's face.  "That's the best offer I've had in… two days."

Slipping off his shoes, Stephen carefully crawled in on the side opposite of Frank's IV's.  It took some cautious shifting until both men were comfortable, but before long, Connor found himself drifting off to sleep.

          Just as he was on the verge, he startled back to awareness.

          "Easy, babe… I'm here," Frank's well-loved voice assured.

          "Love you, too," Stephen murmured, already fading off again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday, 0747 Hours**

 

          "Mr. Tanner," Ezra said strictly, "the doctors said quite clearly that you have to eat if you want to get your strength back."

          Vin leveled his best no-nonsense glower, sure to stop anything short of a rampaging bull elephant – or an irate Chris Larabee – on the man.

          Frank, resting in the next bed, couldn't resist a snort of amusement.  In a not-so-quiet voice he said, "They obviously haven't tried the food here."

          Eva coughed to cover her giggle, but it didn't quite work and she found herself at the mercy of a full-on Ezra Standish glare.  It only made her laugh harder.

          Standish turned his attention back to Vin.  He folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head slightly to one side.  "You're _not_ eating, Mr. Tanner."

          Vowing to work on the glower until it included stubborn undercover agents, Vin eyed his tray suspiciously.  On it, what he _hoped_ was oatmeal, floated in a plastic bowl.  If it wasn't oatmeal, he'd have to file a complaint for illegal disposal of toxic wastes, because it really looked like some experiment they might be working on, not food.

          Picking up his spoon, he poked tentatively at the substance.  "Uh…"

          "Oh, come now, it can't be _that_ bad.  I believe I had some of that… well, whatever it is, when I was in the hospital once, a long time ago."

          "Probably the same batch," Tanner muttered.  "They just kept sendin' it out t' different institutional cafeterias 'til someone's stupid enough t' actually eat it."

          "It wasn't _that_ bad, was it?" Eva turned to ask Frank.

          "I don't know," Frank admitted.  "Stephen smuggled in some real oatmeal for me.  Looks like I owe him big time for that."

          The door swinging open spared Vin actually sampling the gruesome mixture.  "Larabee, where's m' pants?"

          "Don't you think you'd better tackle breakfast before you storm the nurses' station?" Chris asked him, the edge to his voice making the joke more pointed than was called for.

          "He's grouchy," Buck summed up, following the blond into the room.

          "I am _not_ grouchy," Larabee argued, realizing too late he had sounded incredibly grouchy while doing so.

          "Oh, yes, you are," the ladies' man countered.

          "Have I been that hard to deal with?" Powell whispered to Eva.

          She shook her head and mouthed back, "Worse."

          "When am I gettin' out 'a here?" Vin asked the men.  "I feel fine.  I'm gonna starve t' death if I'm stuck here much longer.  Where's Connor?"

          "Soon.  Glad to hear it.  I doubt that.  I don't know," Buck rattled off, then grinned.

          Blue eyes narrowed and the sniper's lips disappeared into a thin line.

          "Try the toast, Mr. Tanner," Ezra suggested, sparing Wilmington's life.  "I believe it was Mr. Dunne this morning who pointed out that, if you fold it in half, it springs back to its original shape… like rubber."

          "Great," Vin grumbled as Buck moved in closer for a better view of the experiment.

          Vin glared up at the big man again.

          But Buck just grinned and said to Chris, "Hell, stud, he sure can give the ol' Larabee glare a run for its money, can't he?"

          "He's just being a goddamn stubborn fool," Larabee replied.  "The doctors said eat, so eat, goddamn it."

          Vin blinked and transferred his increasingly-annoyed glower to his lover.  "I will as soon as I c'n find some real food on my plate!"

          "Ah," Ezra said, his eyes closing, his expression like that of a man who had just sampled a fine wine, "the sounds of normalcy at long last…"

          "Are they always like this?" Eva wondered, shaking her head in amazement.

          "Oh no," Powell said, pausing a moment before adding, "usually they're worse!"


	22. Chapter 22

**Friday, May 28 th**

**1010 Hours**

 

          "It's about time!" Vin enthused when Josiah entered his room carrying a small gym bag.  "Those my clothes?" he asked hopefully.  He'd thought that his transfer from the lab to a regular hospital would mean he'd be sent home soon, but that hadn't proven to be the case.

          "Yes, they are, but you're not going to need them just yet."

          "Damn it, J'siah, what more do they want?  I've been bled dry already!  I'm fine.  I want t' go home."

          "This won't hurt a bit, Vin," he reassured the man as the door opened and a nurse entered, pushing a wheelchair.

          "I've heard that from everyone for _days_ now, J'siah, 'n' they've been wrong every damn time."

          "Agent Tanner, you are the worst patient I've ever had to deal with, and I've dealt with some real brutes!" the nurse said, pointing to the chair.  "Insert rump here – now."

          With all the dignity he could muster while wearing the thin hospital gown, Vin took his seat in the chair.  "What is it this time?"

          "Last set of chest X-rays," the nurse supplied as she wheeled him out the door.  "Then a trip to neurology, and _then_ I'm hoping we finally get _rid_ of you."

          "Well… good," the sniper grouched, not sure if he should be hurt or not by her words.

          Josiah chuckled softly.  "Look at the bright side, brother," he said.

          "There is one?" Vin asked him.

          "You could have been sent back to DC to the NIH to recuperate with Frank Powell… have doctors Connor, Durant and McCabe hovering over you all this time…"

          Vin raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.  "All right, J'siah, y' made your point."  He flashed the man a grin as they headed for the elevators.  "Poor guy."

          Josiah nodded his agreement.

          Vin's expression turned more serious as they entered the elevator car and the nurse pressed the button that would take them to Radiology.  "Ain't seen Chris in a day 'r so…  He busy?"

          Josiah sighed softly, but not so softly that Tanner didn't hear it.  "He's… dealing with some issues of his own right now."

          Vin frowned.  "'Bout me?"

          Josiah nodded.  "It's not your fault, Vin, and it's nothing you've done…  He's just revisiting some old ghosts.  Give him a little time; he'll be all right."

          Vin nodded, but he slumped back in his wheelchair, worried nonetheless.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Two days later, Washington, DC**

**NIH Headquarters, Hospital Wing**

 

          "C'mon, Natalie, when are you guys going to spring me from here?" Frank begged, just short of whining.  "I heard through the grapevine Tanner got out two days ago!"

          "That's because he's younger than you, and he didn't have Klebsiella six months prior to this little escapade," she retorted.

          "That's damned dirty pool," Powell grumbled.

          "What?  You would prefer I pretend you didn't have Klebsiella?" Durant innocently wondered.

          "You know damned well what I meant."  Frank glared at her.

          Natalie burst out laughing.  Shaking her head, she sighed dramatically.  "Does Agent Tanner know just how ineffective his glare is, when he's not the one doing it?"

          Frank really did pout this time, scooting down lower in the bed and pulling the blanket up to his chin.  "It's a damned conspiracy, that's what it is," he griped.  "You're all trying to keep me wrapped up safe to keep Stephen sweet."

          "Frank—"

          "What?  You're going to tell me it's not true?" he challenged.  "Go ahead… deny it, Nat!"

          "Better be nice to her, Frank," Connor said from the doorway.  He had been standing there for a few minutes, listening with growing amusement to the by-play between his lover and their friend.

          "Why?"

          "Because if you _don't_ cooperate, I'm going to put my stethoscope in the freezer next time," she promised.  "Now, let me listen to your chest."

          "Bossy."  Nevertheless, Powell did as requested, keeping quiet as she listened to his lungs and heart.  When she was finished, he said, "Well, am I still alive?"

          She looked over at Connor and caught his infinitesimal nod.  Fighting to keep her smile hidden, she pretended to give it some thought.

          "Natalie…"  He drew the syllables out as long as possible.

          "Alive enough to go home, I'd say."  She grinned at his whoop of glee.

          Stephen chuckled as his partner threw back the covers, then froze as he realized he had nothing on under the gown.

          "Uh, Nat… would you mind…?" the Black man asked pointedly.

          "Are you serious?  It's nothing I haven't seen already, Frank," she reminded him.

          "Out!" he thundered.  "Out of here, both of you!"

          "I think we'd better listen to him, Nat," Connor advised.  "If he starts throwing things it could get dangerous."

          "Nah, we'd just sic Kate on him."  Giving Frank an evil smile, Natalie headed out the door.

          "Stephen?" Powell called before Connor could follow.

          "Hmm?" the other man turned, raising an eyebrow.

          "Was she serious?  About me getting out, I mean."

          "Yeah."  Grinning widely, Stephen closed the distance between them and stole a quick kiss.  "I just have to take care of the paperwork and pick up your meds, then I'll be back with your chariot."

          "Thank God," the other man said, relieved.

          "Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone, okay?"  Winking, Connor headed for the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A week later**

 

          "Vin, you resting?"

          Tanner winced slightly.  "Yeah, JD, I'm restin'."  He laid his pen aside and looked up from his paperwork.

          "Looks to me like you're working.  Chris says you should be resting.  You just got home, you know."

          Vin contemplated what he might do if he heard the phrase 'Chris says' one more time, but decided everything he could come up with was a federal offense.

          "I'm just gettin' started on all this damn paperwork," he explained, waving his hand over the stack of file folders cluttering up one corner of Larabee's coffee table.

          JD crossed the room and slid into the leather recliner.  "It ever remind you of homework?"

          "Hell, yes," Vin said.  "Hated that, too."

          "Homework's work," JD pronounced sagely.  "You better wait 'til tomorrow… at least."

          Fighting back a smile, Vin decided to humor the request.  "Guess it can't hurt t' let this sit for another day… or two."

          "Cool, we can watch _Total Recall_ on HBO!"

          Vin nodded his agreement.  "Now, _that_ sounds more like restin' than paperwork does."

          "Yep."  JD bounced out of the recliner.  "You want some breakfast?  Josiah's in there making his famous flapjacks."

          "Sure," Vin replied, watching the younger man leave the room.  He'd been out from the hospital for a week now, each day of his liberation spent out at the ranch, and he was chafing to return to his regular routine, even if no one else was ready to let him do it.

          He was _fine_.

Dr. Chandler had pronounced him bacteria- and toxin-free.  Oh sure, he was still a little sore and achy, but that was fading, too, and his strength was almost back to… well, something starting to approach normal.  It would have _been_ normal if he could just get back to his regular runs and exercise.  But every time he tried to do anything that was… well, _normal_ , one of the others would appear to distract him, or con him into waiting, or tell him he couldn't, shouldn't, or wouldn't want to do it…  Hell, Chris had even refused to make love to him!

Well, enough was enough!  He was _fine,_ damn it.  It was high time he got on with his life.  It wasn't going to wait for him forever, after all.

          With a deep breath, he pushed himself up and left the living room, heading for the kitchen, and breakfast.  Even his appetite had returned, which was no small feat after all the lab and hospital swill he'd been forced to endure.

          Yep, he was _fine_ , and it was time the others stopped treating him like he was still an invalid.

          Now, all he had to do was convince _them_ of that…

          "Morning, Vin," Josiah greeted as he entered and took a seat at the breakfast bar.

          "Mornin'," he replied, noting Larabee's absence.  "Anythin' going on?"

          "Nada," Buck said with a smile.  "We're still all on vacation for another two days."

          Vin nodded.  "Good, that'll give me two days t' get back into a routine."  He waited for someone to voice an objection, but there were none.  "That's not a problem?"

          "Should it be?" Josiah asked him.

          Tanner's eyes narrowed slightly.  "For the last week y'all 've been watchin' me like I was an only chick.  Yeah, I was expectin' some kind 'a objection."

          Buck shrugged.  "Nathan figured a week was enough rest.  A week's up today.  You're free."

          "Why didn't anyone tell _me_ this?" Vin demanded.

          "What, and ruin all our fun?" Buck asked him, then added sincerely, "Welcome back, Junior."

          JD grinned at Vin from across the space.  "So, does that mean you'd rather go horseback riding?"

          "You bet," Vin said with a smile.  "Excellent way t' start the day, in my opinion."

          " _After_ you have some breakfast," Josiah said, transferring three of the large golden-brown discs onto a plate which he slid in front of Vin.

          Tanner grinned down at the pancakes.  "Of course," he said, reaching for the butter and the syrup, slathering on the first and drowning the stack in the later before digging in.

          Buck and Josiah exchanged grins, JD just rolling his eyes.  "It's a good thing Nathan isn't here to see that!" he added.

          "Where is everybody else?" Vin asked.

          "Nathan's out helping Chris feed the horses," Buck told him.  "And Ezra's…  Well, he's wherever he is."

          "Said he was 'tracking down some loose threads,' whatever the hell that means," JD supplied.  "Said he'd be back for lunch, though, and insisted it be something other than barbecue."

          "Heathen," Buck replied, shaking his head.

          Vin nodded, his mouth too full to speak.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**In DC**

 

          A familiar scent pulled Frank back to reality and he blinked sleepily as he looked around, confused.  Oh yeah…  He had climbed into Stephen's bed after a late night trip to the bathroom.

          He had been too tired to actually do anything more than curl around his lover, but Frank knew he had slept sounder than at any point since getting out of the hospital.  They hadn't slept together before, mostly because Stephen had this crazy idea that if they shared a bed, Frank would relapse.

          Seeing that he was now alone in the bed, Frank pulled the pillow closer and breathed in.  He felt the stirring of arousal and groaned.  _He_ knew he was fine, why couldn't Stephen and the others accept that?

          Speaking of the others…  Frank heard the sound of voices coming from Stephen's living room and groaned again.  His babysitters had arrived.

Not that he didn't appreciate their caring, he did.  But, damn it, it would be nice to have some time to himself for a change.

And he was sure if he had Stephen alone for more than a few hours at a time he could convince the blond he was far from death's door, and an orgasm or three wouldn't send him back, either.

          Climbing out of bed, he decided to take a shower, thankful that his decision to share Stephen's bed meant he could slip into the bathroom without entering the hallway.  He wanted to avoid his wardens for as long as possible, hoping he might find something civil to say when he finally had no choice.

          As he shut both doors and stripped, Frank sighed heavily at that last thought.  He wasn't mad at his friends.  Not really.  How could he be?  He knew he had scared them.  And not just once, but twice – in less than six months.  Three of them were doctors, for God's sake.  Was it any wonder they were overdoing the mother hen routine?

          Still, it didn't make it any easier to deal with.

          Frank took his time in the shower.  He reasoned the longer he stayed in here, the more likely his keepers might get bored and find somewhere else to be.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Stephen heard the bathroom door shut and the sound of running water, both of which let him know that Frank was up and about.  He tried to keep his mind on the conversation with Natalie and Eva, but he kept listening for Frank, instead.

          He was keenly aware when the water shut off, and when a sufficient amount of time had passed, and still no sign of Frank, Connor began to worry.  Sure Frank had been fine lately, but a relapse wasn't out of the question.  What if—?

          Excusing himself from the ladies, Stephen headed down the hallway to the bathroom.  There were no sounds.

Heart pounding, he rapped on the door.  "Frank, everything okay in here?"  No response.  Knocking louder, he called, "Frank?  Do you need—?"

          The bedroom door was yanked open and Frank stalked out into the hallway, his expression furious.  "Goddamn it, give it a rest, Connor!" he snarled.  "Ever since we got home you've been hovering like a mother hen with one defective chick and, you know what?  It's getting _old_."  He was advancing on his partner as he spoke, forcing Stephen to back up along the hall toward the living room.

          "Frank, I—"

          "No!  Don't 'Frank' me, Stephen!  I know you were worried.  Hell, so was I!  But I'm _fine_.  And if you'd stop trying to protect me, I could show you—"  Powell realized they had an audience and he snapped his mouth shut before he could say anything else.

          Natalie and Eva both looked uncomfortable.  They were accustomed to the occasional shouting match between these two, but not on such a personal level.

          Eva took control of the situation by standing and grasping Natalie's arm, pulling her along.  "We should get going.  Kate probably has… something for us to do!"

          Natalie nodded her agreement.  Looking at Stephen, she said, "I'll call you later, okay?"

          "Shit," Frank muttered once the door had closed behind their friends.  "Stephen, I'm—"

          "Yeah, me, too."  Stephen grinned wryly.  "I deserved that.  I don't know how you put up with me sometimes."

          Powell rolled his eyes.  "Why do you think?  And don't say sex, because we haven't had any in… weeks!"

          Connor could feel the flush working up from his neck and cursed his fair coloring.  Out of the blue, he recalled the reason Natalie and Eva had stopped by and he opened his mouth, prepared to explain and apologize.  He never got the chance.

          Knowing his lover's tendency for self-flagellation, Frank closed the distance between them, pulling Connor close and leaning in for a kiss.  It was meant to be chaste, an assurance of love and forgiveness, that all was well in their world.

          But Stephen moaned, quickly opening his mouth wider to deepen the contact.  Wanting more than just a kiss, he began to maneuver them toward the bedroom.

          Breaking the kiss with a laugh, Frank said, "Oh ho, suddenly someone has decided I'm not going to faint if I get an erection?"

          "Considering Kate is expecting your ass back in the lab tomorrow, I'd say that's a yes."  Stephen grinned as his lover whooped with glee.  In the next instant he found himself lifted and dumped unceremoniously onto the bed.

          "My plans for your ass have nothing to do with Kate or the lab," Frank growled.

          "Good!  So stop talking and prove it!"

          Giving an evil chuckle, Powell said, "Thought you'd never ask."


	23. Chapter 23

**Monday, June 14 th**

**0803 Hours**

 

          He heard them outside the door, talking and laughing as they entered the office.  "'Bout time," he called.

          They each came to a stumbling halt, eyebrows climbing.  Josiah, Nathan, Buck, JD and Ezra all glanced around at their office space, taking in the abundant party decorations that covered the walls, desks, windows and whatever other surface would be put to use.  A handmade banner that hung from the ceiling read "I'm Back!"

          "You're late," Vin told them, settling back in his chair and grinning at their confused, dazed looks.

          "Uh, Vin," JD said, "aren't you still on sick-leave?"

          Vin's grin broadened into a genuine smile.  "Nope.  Dr. Chandler gave me the you're-all-better-now-go-on-back-to-work speech on Friday, so I'm officially back as of today."

          "I see," was Nathan's cool reply.  Taking a deep breath, and hoping he could keep a straight face, he stalked over to Tanner and peered down at him.  It didn't take long for Vin's expression to falter slightly under the former medic's intense scrutiny.  A moment later a smile broke out on Jackson's face.  "Yep, y' look okay.  Good to have you back, Vin," he said, reaching out and slapping the sniper on the back.  "You're looking good, really – damn good."

          The others all laughed at Tanner's relieved expression and headed to their desks, most of them still gawking at the decorations as they went.

          "What's all this for?" Buck asked, waving his hands at the riot of color and designs.  "You do realize that _we're_ supposed to throw _you_ a welcome back party, right?"

          "Well, that might be true, but I figured I'd throw you guys a party, too," Vin said, blue eyes alight with warmth and friendship.  "T' say thank you, for all y' done for me…  Don't think I would've made it through that mess if it hadn't been for you guys."  The grin returned as the five men blushed at the compliment.

          "Still," Ezra said, schooling his expression into one of his best haughty, condescending looks, "this is a terrible breach of protocol, Mr. Tanner, simply dreadful.  I'm afraid we're going to have to _insist_ that you take this all down and allow us to enact our rightful roles of celebrators upon the conclusion of this most unfortunate recent drama."

          They watched as Vin's eyes widened slightly as he tried to quickly translate the man's words.

          "Well," Tanner said and cleared his throat, "reckon if y'all feel that way, I could take it down…"

          "We did have some pretty audacious plans," Josiah agreed, looking at Ezra.  His eyes were twinkling.

          "Y' did?"

          "Oh, yeah," Buck jumped in.  "Food, cake… belly-dancing girls…"

          "Belly-dancing girls?" JD echoed.  "Since when?"

          The ladies' man rolled his eyes and Vin fought back a smile.

          "Wow…" Tanner added.  "Well then, reckon I'll just have t' let y' rock the house… another day," he concluded, watching the men's lips twitching into smiles.  "'Cause I've already got us reservations at Chops for tonight, and I picked up one of them extra special cakes from The Celestial Bake–"

          "Oh my God," Josiah gasped, interrupting.  "Don't tell me… the white cake one with fruit filling and butter rum frosting?"

          "The very same," Vin replied, nodding.  "Only the best… for the best bunch of friends, no, _brothers_ , a guy could ever hope to find."

          "Well, then, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said, his eyes a little bright, "we might be willing to forgive your _faux pas_ after all."

          "You bet we are," Nathan added, the others nodding.

          "Glad to hear it," Vin replied, looking and sounding more than a little smug.  "Where's Larabee?"

          Buck frowned.  "He's not here?  He didn't help you put all this stuff up?"

          Tanner shook his head.  "Expected he'd turn up with the rest of ya."

          "He wasn't at breakfast, either," Nathan offered.  "We thought he was running late because—"

          "Because of me," Vin finished for him, frowning now as well.  "He helped me get all my shit back to the apartment on Saturday, but I didn't hear from him Sunday."

          "I'll give him a call," Buck said, starting to reach for his cell phone.

          "What in the hell is this crap?"

          The six men looked to find Larabee stalking into the office.  The blond was frowning as he took in the decorations.  He stopped for a moment, then just shook his head and headed into his office, closing the door behind him.

          "Something happen between you two?" Buck asked the sniper.

          "Not that I knew of," Vin replied, still staring at the closed door to Chris' office.  "Did kind 'a wonder 'bout Sunday, but I figured he wanted me to rest since I'd be coming back today…"

          "Yes, well, whatever Mr. Larabee's issues might be," Ezra said, "I, for one, am just glad that we, once again, have beaten the odds."  He grinned at Vin adding, "I always knew that you were simply too stubborn to die, Mr. Tanner."

          The men laughed and slowly began to actually turn their attention to their work.

          "Chops, huh?" JD called.  "That's gonna cost you a month's pay."

          "It'll be worth it," Vin said sincerely, but he was still worried about what was happening with Chris.  Had he done or said something to upset the man?  He couldn't remember anything, but…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Friday, June 19 th**

**1212 Hours**

 

          Vin stepped off the path and stretched.  It was a beautiful, clear day, perfect for a run in the park – his preferred way of spending lunch.  God but it felt good to be back at work, back to "normal," or whatever passed for it.

          "Vin?"

          Tanner glanced over his shoulder and smiled when he saw Chris walking up to join him.  "Hey, y' finally gonna run with me?" he asked, beginning his warm-up exercises.

          "What the hell are you doing?"

          The sniper frowned.  "Gettin' ready for my run, just like normal."

          "But you just got out of the hospital."

          Vin glanced over at the blond, sensing something was wrong, but finding no clue in the man's closed expression.  Chris had been distant ever since he'd… lived.  At first Vin had chalked it up to the aftermath of a good scare, but it wasn't getting any better.  "It's been almost three weeks, Chris.  Dr. Chandler said I was fine, that I should go back t' all my normal routines weeks ago, remember?"

          "I'm sure he didn't mean you should be out here running a damned marathon over lunch," Larabee snapped.

          Vin felt himself bristle and forced himself to take a deep breath before he replied.  "I'm not runnin' a marathon, Chris.  I'm just taking a two mile run around the park."

          "You're not Superman, you know."

          "Yeah," Vin said, more confused than ever, "I know."

          "Then why the hell do you act like you are?" Chris demanded.

          "That's out 'a line," Vin snapped, his own anger finally bubbling to the surface.  He knew if he wasn't careful, he was going to say something he'd regret, but that _was_ out of line.  He hadn't been doing a damn thing out of the ordinary.  He was just doing what he usually did.

          "No, _you're_ out of line," was the reply.  "Why can't you admit you're human, just like the rest of us?"

          "Just a goddamned minute—"  But before he could get started, Larabee turned and stalked away.

          _What the hell was that?_ Vin wondered, watching Chris getting farther away.  He didn't know, but he _did_ know he had to find out, and soon, before the relationship he and Chris had built was destroyed.  And he wasn't about to let that happen.

          He sighed, knowing he wouldn't be running today.  Instead, he started after Larabee, picking up speed until he finally caught up with the man.  "Hey, Chris, hold on."

          The blond stopped and Vin heard him sigh heavily.  Chris' shoulders also sagged as he turned to face him.  "What?" he snapped.

          "Something goin' on y' want t' talk about?" he asked the older man.

          Chris shook his head, but said at the same time, "Look— It's not your problem, Vin.  It's mine."

          "Seems like y' made it mine, too."

          Larabee nodded, his jaw muscle jumping with frustration.

          Vin glanced around at the park, relatively quiet for the time of day.  "Y' want t' take a walk?" he asked, knowing the jogging trail would give them some privacy.

          It was clear from the look on the man's face he didn't want to, but Chris sighed again and nodded, resigned to his fate.

          The first several minutes passed in silence, but then Chris said softly, "I', just having a hard time facing the fact that… that I…  Hell, I don't know what I'm trying to say here."

          "That y' found out your heart isn't as dead as ya thought it was?" Vin asked quietly.

          Larabee's eyes rounded.  "Yeah…  I guess that's close enough."

          Vin offered him a small smile.  "Hell, Chris, any time y' think you're going t' lose somethin' that means somethin' t' ya, it hurts…  But I've gotta tell y'…  Havin' somebody who'll stick it out with ya, t' the last breath…  Well, that's a gift, a treasure nobody can put a price on…  If it'd been you…"  He shook his head.  "Reckon I would've felt what you're feelin'…  But it wasn't you."  He looked over at the man, his eyes full of hope and sympathy and sadness.  "Y' can live dead, or y' can live life…  It ain't easy, but y' know I think it's worth it."

          That brought a small smile to Chris' lips, too.  "Sometimes I think it is, too.  Other times…"  He shook his head.  "It hurts, Vin…  Too much, maybe…"

          "But isn't the alternative worse?"

          Larabee nodded after a few moments passed.  "Yeah… I guess so."

          They walked on in silence for a while longer, then Larabee asked, "How the hell did you get so wise anyway?"

          Vin flashed him a grin.  "Hell if I know."

          The blond snorted.  "I do."

          Vin looked at him, waiting for him to continue, but Chris changed the topic.  "Guess I've been acting like a damn fool, haven't I?"

          Vin nodded.  "Reckon y' have…  Well, a pain in the ass, anyway."

          "Fuck you, Tanner."

          "I keep askin'," the man replied, tone frustrated.

          Larabee shook his head.  Then stopped and rested his hands on his hips.  "You know, only _you_ could find the one place in Purgatory an escaped, plague-infected rodent would go to die."

          "And how the hell was I supposed t' know it'd get caught in Pop's new air conditioning unit?"

          Chris started walking again, this time heading them back toward their building.  "I'm just saying you're a freakin' trouble magnet."

          "I am not."

          "The hell you aren't."

          "Hey, anybody could've been there at the wrong time.  Look at Frank Powell.  It was just… poor timin'."

          "Trouble magnet."

          Tanner rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.  Chris' fear wasn't conquered, but at least he knew Chris was trying to put it behind him.  And anybody who'd ride the river with you to the last breath was worth waiting for, worth helping.  And Vin knew he'd do whatever it took… to his last breath.

          But he suspected what Chris needed right now was a demonstration.

          "Hey, how far y' figure Ezra's place is from here?" Vin asked.

          Chris stopped and turned to look at the man.  "I don't know, little over a mile, maybe as much as two, why?"

          Vin grinned.  "Think y' can catch me?"

          "Catch you?" Larabee echoed.

          "Think y' better," Vin replied, then turned and sprinted away.

          "Vin!" Chris called after him.  "Goddamn it, Tanner, get your ass back here!"

          Vin flipped him the bird, and kept on running.  Chris counted to ten and then headed out after him.

          _Tanner must be fine_ , the blond thought as he tried again to gain on the younger man, but wasn't able to.  Why the hell he was chasing him, he wasn't sure.

          He watched as Vin slowed, allowing Larabee to finally come up alongside him.

          "You're gettin' slow, old man," he teased.

          "Like hell I am," Larabee countered.

          Vin flashed him a grin and turned on the speed, pulling away from him.

          Damn it, Chris growled to himself, forcing his legs to pick up the pace.  There was no way on God's green earth he was going to catch Vin, but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Tanner that.

          A few moments later Vin came to a stop in front of Ezra's condo.  He bent over, hands braced on his thighs, as he sucked in several deep breaths.

          Chris sounded to a stop next to him.  "What the… hell are we… doin' here?" he panted.

          Vin flashed him a wicked grin, then disappeared around the side of the condo.  He was back a few seconds later.  Holding up a key, his grin widened as he walked to the front door and opened it.  With a sweep of his arm, he ushered Chris inside, closing the door behind him and then punching in the security code to keep the state of the art alarm from going off.

          "You know Ezra's security code?" Chris asked suspiciously.

          Vin blinked and looked innocent.

          "Vin," he growled at the younger man.

          That prompted another one of those blasted grins.  "What?" Tanner asked.

          "Why do you know Ezra's security code?"

          "Came over and watered his plants the last time he was under for more

'n three days, remember?"

          Larabee did, but he didn't think that was the reason.  "Why are we here?"

          Vin closed the space between them, his hands slipping around Chris' ribs to his back, then sliding down to cup the blond's ass cheeks.  "Mmm, well, 'cause I reckon y' need a demonstration."

          "Demonstration?" Chris echoed.

          "Yep," Vin replied, leaning in to give his lover a heart-stopping kiss that left both of their lips slightly bruised.

          "Vin," Larabee started, "I don't think—"

          A second kiss effectively shut the blond up.  When they parted to gulp in air, Vin grabbed Chris' arm and marched him down the entryway to an adjoining hallway.  They turned right, Vin guiding him to Ezra's guest room.

          Tanner opened the door and pushed Chris through ahead of him, then followed, closing the door behind him.  The hunger in his blue eyes had Larabee looking a little nervous.

"Better get out of them clothes before I come over there and tear 'em off," Vin said quietly, but the threat was real and Chris knew it.

With a hard swallow, Larabee reached up and tugged his tie loose.  Whatever had possessed him to go chasing after Vin in a suit he'd never know, but he thought, maybe, he was glad he had.  Vin was stripping out of his jogging clothes as quickly as he could.  And as soon as he was naked he headed straight to the bed and pulled the spread, blanket and top sheet off, letting them fall to the floor.  Then he climbed onto the mattress and stretched out, leg parted, arms folded behind his head.

Chris took more time, being sure to hang his jacket, shirt and pants over the back of a chair so they wouldn't get too wrinkled.  He reached down and stripped his socks off, then his underwear.  Before he crossed to the bed, he detoured by the door and flipped the lock handle so no one could walk in on them, then stalked over to the bed and looked down at Vin.

The man was still slightly too thin, but he was putting the weight he'd lost back pretty quickly.  He looked… good, damn good… no, perfect…  And that almost fully-hard cock of his was chasing every argument Chris had been trying to form right out of his head.

Vin grinned and wiggled his ass, making his cock waggle and bounce, the action hardening it as well.

"Damn you, Tanner," Chris hissed.

"What?" Vin asked.

"Don't you play innocent with me, you goddamn skinny-assed Texan.  You fuckin' set me up, didn't you?"

Vin's expression was one of pure blamelessness as he said, "What?  I just figured y' needed to blow off a little steam… 'n' me, too, while's y' at it."

"Bastard," he grumbled, sliding onto the bed between Tanner's legs.  Just the act of running his hands up the insides of Vin's legs had the man's cock standing at attention by the time he got to it.

"Just want y' t' know I'm fine," Vin told him, sincerity shining in the man's blue eyes.  "Reckon y' won't really believe it 'til we make love, 'n' y' been tryin' t' avoid that since they cut me loose from the hospital.  I'm tired of waitin'."

Chris felt his cheeks turning red.  It was true.  He'd wanted to be with Vin, wanted it more than anything in the world, but he'd been too scared to do it, and he'd rebuffed all of Vin's advances, too.  Well, not this time, damn it.

Reaching out, his fingers closed around the base of Tanner's thick shaft, then he bent his head and took the Vin into his mouth, sucking hard while he mashed his tongue to the sensitive underside of the man's cock head.

Vin sucked in a sharp breath and arched his back, his hips pressing up off the bed in an attempt to sink his cock deeper into Chris' mouth.

But Larabee was having none of that.  He swirled his tongue over the tip, and ran it around the glans.  With his free hand he fondled Vin's balls, making him swell a little more.

"Ah, damn, Chris," Vin gasped.  "Been a while, y' know.  Ain't gonna be able t' hold back—  Fuck!" Tanner cried as Chris tapping against the man's hole with his fingertip.  It was already damp with sweat.

When Vin tried to grind his ass down on his teasing finger, Chris sucked more of the man's cock into his mouth, laving along the underside.

"Shit!" Vin yelped, his cock jerking inside Larabee's mouth.

Chris pulled off just long enough to wet his finger, then captured Vin's cock in his mouth again.

"Oh, God," Vin moaned as Chris went back to the same tongue laving while he proceeded to poke his finger into Tanner's ass.  "Chris!"

Vin's body shook and his legs opened farther.  Butt muscles clenching tightly, he reached for his cock, only to have Chris swat his hand away.

"Gonna come," he gasped, but that was just what Larabee wanted.

Chris wiggled his finger in deeper and began to bob his head, up and down on Vin's cock.

"Oh, shit!" the man barked, then his hips were thrusting up, trying to drive himself farther into Larabee's mouth; jerking down, trying to embed the blond's finger deeper.

Vin came with a shuddering groan, emptying himself down Chris' throat.

When his orgasm was over, he sagged back onto the bed, panting, his skin covered with a slight sheen of sweat.  His eyes were closed as he tried to catch his breath.  "Damn… Chris…" he managed.

Larabee grinned as he climbed off the bed and walked around to the nightstand, opening the top drawer.  Sure enough, there was a bottle of liquid KY waiting for him.  He grabbed it and climbed back onto the bed next to Vin, flipping the cap up and squeezing out enough to coat his cock with the slick fluid.  When he was done he wiped his hand along the sheet, then reached out and tapped Vin on the shoulder, telling him to, "roll over."

Eyes still closed as his body basked in the afterglow of his orgasm, Vin rolled onto his side, bottom leg out straight, top leg bent at the knee and pulled up toward his chest.  Chris rolled onto his side as well, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching for the bottle of KY again.  He squeezed some out onto his fingers, then added more to his fingertips and reached down, rubbing it over Tanner's hole and slipping one finger in all the way to lube that tight chute before pulling it out, adding more of the KY and pressing two fingers in to open Vin up.

His muscles were already relaxed from his earlier orgasm and they gave way easily, allowing Chris to stroke his fingers in and out of Vin, slowly arousing the man once again.  He loved the fact Vin could come back as quickly as he did.  It gave him at least two opportunities to take him every time they made love.

When Vin was moaning softly as he rocked his hips back to meet Chris' finger thrusts, the blond knew he was ready.

"Turn over," he husked, and Vin rolled onto his belly, his hips rising in invitation.  The move damn near made Larabee come right there on the spot.

Chris pushed himself up and climbed between Vin's legs, taking hold of the man's hips and pulling him up a little farther.  Then he grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed his leaking tip over Vin's hole a few times, enjoying the way the muscles contracted and dilated as he did.  Vin pressed back, his body begging for Chris to fill him.

          Chris licked his lips and pressed his finger into Vin's ass, enjoying the almost suckling reaction of the younger man's muscles.

          "Chris…" Tanner whined, "…want ya."

          Chris pulled his finger out and grabbed his cock again, this time pressing the tip to that same hole until it surrendered and he slid into Tanner's body.

          Both men sighed heavily with pleasure, Larabee shifting his hands, holding on to Vin's hips are he continued to slowly penetrate his lover.

          Vin pushed up, lifting his chest from the bed and forcing himself back onto Chris' cock, sinking it quicker.  "Oh, yeah," he groaned when he felt Larabee's short hairs mash against his ass.

          Chris grinned at that, holding Vin loosely, watching as the man pulled himself forward, then pressed back, impaling himself on the blond's cock.

          Knowing how to make Vin pick up the speed, Chris leaned forward and reached under Vin, taking hold of his once-again erect cock and beginning to stroke it.  There was more than enough of the lube left on his hand to allow it to slide easily over the surface, fractioning Tanner faster and faster.

          And Vin's hips met whatever tempo he set.

          Before long, both men were dripping with sweat, groaning and grunting as they each neared their climax.

          Chris shifted his weight forward slightly, forcing Vin to lower his chest and raise his hips.  When he did, Larabee's cock began to slide over his pleasure spot.

          "Ah!" Vin cried out, muscles inside his ass beginning to flutter.  "There!  Chris!"

          Larabee squeezed the head of Tanner's cock and began to rub his thumb over the tip, using the fluid that was beginning to dribble out to slick the man even more.  His hips picked up speed, his thrusts coming faster and fiercer.

          "Chris!" Vin cried out.

          Larabee could feel Vin's body begin to quiver, the muscles in the younger man's ass beginning to spasm around his cock.  Vin's hips jerked wildly, meeting every thrust with as much force as he could muster.

          Chris' thumb circled faster and faster on Vin's cock head, fingers squeezing and releasing as he continued to pummel Tanner's ass with his cock.  He felt Vin's muscles when they grabbed him tightly.  Then Vin was jerking, moaning, shooting into Larabee's hand.

          The feel of Vin's seed, hot and thick, flowing through his fingers, excited him like nothing could.  He leaned over more, forcing Vin's chest to the bed, his ass still up as the blond continued to stab into his lover with abandon while Tanner's ass went wild.

          The combination of Vin's gripping muscles and the feel of his come still oozing between his fingers finally proved to be too much.

          Chris straightened, grabbing Vin's hips, holding them, watching as his hips drove his cock into the man one last time.  He was buried inside Vin, wrapped in his heat, his orgasm playing along his cock like it was some kind of instrument.  He cried out as he ground himself against Vin and felt the first of his come spray the inside of Tanner's ass.

          He humped against Vin, eyes squeezed shut, breath held as he unloaded.  He could imagine himself filling Vin's body with his seed, bathing the man in it, and the image wrung another long pulse from his balls.

          The orgasm finally released him, he gulped in as much air as he could and waited as he body continued to quake, small amounts of come welling up and running out of his cock.

          Somehow he ended up lying on top of Vin, his cock trapped in Tanner's ass.  Sweat ran down his sides and dripped onto the sheet.

          A couple of minutes later his cock slipped free and he rolled off Vin, settling next to him, rolling up to plant a kiss on the man's shoulder.

          "Mmm," Vin responded.

          "Ezra's going to kill us, you do know that, right."

          "Will not," Vin replied.

          "Oh, and why is that, given what we've done to this bed?"

          "Was his idea."

          "What?" Chris yelped, almost sitting up.

          Vin rolled over onto his back and grinned up at the blond.  "Y' don't really think I got that kind of a death wish, do ya?"

          Chris huffed out a breath and looked down at Vin.  "What is it going to cost me?"

          The innocent expression returned.

          "Vin…"

          "I promised him we'd change and make the bed… and this weekend he wants t' go pick up a new entertainment center; gonna need the Ram."

          "And a pair of willing backs, so he doesn't have to break a sweat," Larabee guessed.

          Vin smiled.  "Figured it'd be worth it."

          Chris huffed out another breath, but he grumbled, "Guess you thought right."

          "Thought you'd see it that way," Vin said.

          "If we're going to do all that, we're going to borrow the shower in the guest bath, too," Chris grouched.

          "Mmm," Vin replied, a twinkle in his eye.  "Reckon that shower is big enough fer two?"

          Larabee chuffed out a laugh and shook his head.  "Hell if I know, but we might as well find out.  How long to we have?"

          "'Til five," Vin replied.

          Chris checked the clock – 2:27 p.m.  Hell, that was enough time…

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Monday, June 21 st**

**0942 Hours**

          Frank glanced around at the empty NIH lab, a puzzled frown on his face.  Okay, so he was late because of his doctor's appointment, but where the hell was everyone?

          "Ah!  Frank, there you are."  Director Kate Ewing swept into the lab.  "Welcome back."

          "Uh, thanks."  Powell looked around uncomfortably.  "Where is everyone?"

          "We've had a major call-out."  For once the Director looked vaguely apologetic.  "I'm sorry to do this to you on your first day back, but I really need you to go and give them an assist."

          "Sure, no problem."  Powell shrugged.  "I've been cleared for field work, so…"

          "Good."  Kate handed him a kit and a slip with the address.  "I'll call Stephen and tell him you're on the way.  He'll appreciate that.  He's missed you out there."  With an uncustomary smile and a wink, she turned and left.

          "Okay, now that was just plain _weird_."  Fighting back a shudder, Frank took a look at the address and headed out of the lab.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The address wasn't familiar to Frank, but then he hadn't expected it to be either.  As he pulled up to the small office building, he relaxed upon seeing the familiar black SUV parked in the lot.  He parked next to it and hopped out.

          Grabbing his kit, he hurried for the front door.  A well-known feeling of anticipation curled through him, fed by long weeks of inactivity.  He had missed this, more than he had realized.

          Eva had apparently been keeping an eye out for him and was waiting in the lobby.  She smiled warmly as he approached.

          "Welcome back, Big Guy," she said.  "Had enough lounging in the sun lately?"

          "Ha-ha-ha," Powell returned, echoing the grin.  "You're just jealous of my incredible tan."

          The petite woman groaned and rolled her eyes.  "I see your sense of humor is still on the missing list," she teased.  "Come on, Stephen's waiting upstairs for you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What is this place?" Frank wondered when they got off the elevator and headed down the hall.

          "The first two floors are leased by a local credit union.  The offices on this floor belong to an insurance brokerage," Eva explained.  "Stephen and Natalie are right down here."

          She indicated a door at the end of the corridor and stopped to let him precede her.

          "Insurance?" Frank questioned, frowning.  "What the hell kind of outbreak could we find here?"  He grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open, missing Eva's badly stifled grin.

          Powell didn't get one foot inside the door before the lights went on and there was a group shout of "Surprise!"

          "Shit!" Frank yelped, jumping back, his eyes wide with shock.  He shook his head in exasperation.  "I should've known things were too quiet at the lab—"

          "It's got glass walls."  Connor shrugged.  "We knew there was no way to surprise you there."

          "Surprise?  Hell, I think you folks just took a few _more_ years off my life," Frank growled, glaring at the rest of his team and the dozen or so other NIH staffers who were in attendance.

          None of them seemed in the least bit intimidated, however.  Rather, they were grinning with various degrees of satisfaction.  No one had expected to be able to pull this off with such success.

          "Who are you kidding?" Stephen asked with a mock glare of his own.  "I saw your re-cert physical results, partner.  You're going to outlive us all."

          "From your lips to God's ear," Powell murmured, a shadow crossing his expression.

          The blond nodded his understanding.  While he couldn't say or demonstrate his feelings, Connor hoped his own expression conveyed the love and reassurance he knew his partner needed.

          Powell nodded minutely to indicate he had gotten the unspoken message, and he quickly pulled Connor into a loose one-armed hug.  After all, no one would dare deny the guest of honor a chance to thank his host.

          Pulling free, Frank took a few more steps into the room and made a production of looking around.  "Someone said this was a party, right?" he bellowed.  "So, where's the music?  And what about the food?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Half an hour later, Natalie nudged Stephen in the ribs and pointed to a second door at the back of the office.  Kate Ewing had just entered and was making her way toward Frank, stopping occasionally to chat with staff.

          "Am I seeing things?" Natalie wondered.  "Director Ewing showing up at a party for one of _our_ team?"

          "Could be the end of the world as we know it," Stephen agreed darkly.  "I can't decide if she actually has a soft spot for Frank, or if he has something on her that keeps him in her good graces."

          Natalie looked shocked.  "You mean you honestly don't know?"

          Connor shook his head.  "And Frank's not telling, either."

          They turned and watched as Powell looked up and finally noticed Ewing's appearance.  The guest of honor shot their boss a playful glare for her role in the deception.

          Her return smirk earned her an outright laugh from Powell.  He wagged a finger at her and to the surprise of most everyone, she returned the laugh.

          Ignoring the shocked looks he was getting, Frank turned to the food table and picked up a slice of cake.  Taking it to Kate, he leaned down and whispered something in her ear that made her chuckle once more.

          Stephen knew he must look as baffled as Natalie, so, when she looked to him for clarification, he shook his head and shrugged.

          Some mysteries were better left unsolved, he decided.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Later that evening**

****

          "Good thing you thought ahead and decided we should take a cab," Stephen murmured.  He was sitting as close as possible to Frank, their hands intertwined.  He wasn't quite drunk, but he knew he'd fail a sobriety test, as would his partner.

          Frank's answer was a deep rumble of amusement as he pulled Stephen close for a loving kiss.

          "It's a night for celebrating.  I didn't want either of us to have to explain a drunk driving charge to Kate," Powell claimed.

          "Smart man.  Knew there was a reason I love you," Connor said.

          "Oh, only one?"  Frank grinned, stealing another kiss.

          The cab driver rapped on the dividing window.  "Hey, d'ya mind saving the hot stuff until you get home?" he growled.  "I just got those seats cleaned!"

          Stephen was about to snap a reply, but Frank raised a hand for silence.  "Rolly," he said to the driver, "if you've cleaned these seats in the last year, that's generous.  Just drive, man."

          "Now that's cruel, Powell," the driver complained.  "You know… I didn't have to take this fare, right?  I could have shoved it off on one of the old geezers."

          Connor relaxed at the realization.  "You two know each other?"

          "Yep," Rolly confirmed, grinning into the rearview mirror.  "Gonna tell him, Powell?  Or should I?"

          "I'll do it!" Frank jumped in.  Ignoring the other man's chuckle, he rushed on, "Rolly here was my training officer.  Claims he had such a hard time with me that's why he had to retire."

          Connor grinned at his lover's affronted expression.  "My sympathies, Rolly."

          The driver hooted with laughter.  "I like this one, Powell!"

          "Hey, he's taken!" Frank growled.  "Get your own doctor."

          At that moment they pulled up in front of Stephen's apartment building.

          "Saved by the bell," the driver quipped, turning around to wink at his passengers.

          "Yeah, lucky for you."  Powell's easy tone and grin too the sting out of the words.  He pulled out his wallet and handed over the fare, including a generous tip.  "Thanks, Rolly.  I appreciate you doing this for us."

          "No problem…  You know you can always count on me, Frank."  Turning to Stephen, he said, "It was nice meeting you.  Take care of this stubborn fool.  He has a tendency to rush in where angels steer clear."

          "Don't I know it," Stephen said, waving as Frank steered him toward the door.

 

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          Once inside Connor's apartment, Frank drew the blond close for a kiss.  It quickly heated in intensity, both men recognizing the need for more.

          They left a trail of clothing on the way to the bedroom.  Frank maneuvered Stephen to the bed, gently pushing him down onto the mattress and straddling him.

          Light shined in from the hallway, allowing Frank to see the uncertainty that flickered in the pale blue eyes.  Powell knew he had to stay calm if he was going to convince Stephen.  The other man was gun-shy and Frank couldn't really blame him.  He reasoned he'd be just as wary if their positions were reversed and he'd come within a breath of losing Connor.

          They had been intimate on several occasions during Frank's recuperation but those interludes had been tame and sedate.  While Frank treasured those times, he needed more, needed his lover to recognize that he was fully recovered and wouldn't melt if things got heated between them.

          "I love you, Stephen," he whispered, a little surprised at the raw emotion in his voice.  "Let me show you how much.  Please?"

          The blue eyes blinked, suddenly suspiciously bright.  Connor reached out and cupped his lover's cheek, letting his thumb trail over the smooth skin.

          "You already have."  When Powell looked uncertain, Stephen explained simply, "You came back, Frank.  I— I know it would have been so easy to let go."

          "Jesus."  Shifting to the side, Frank pulled Stephen into a tight hug.  It had been close, he knew.  And he had vague memories of an unnamed disappointment when he had woken after the crisis.

          Stephen took a ragged breath, holding on to Frank like a man clinging to a rescue buoy.

          "It's okay, Stevie," Frank soothed, using the rare nickname that earned anyone else a disapproving glare.  " _I'm_ okay.  It's behind us now.  Let me prove it to you, huh?  Let me show you why I stayed."

          The words, the loving tone, the sheer _need_ , finally broke down the last of Stephen's resistance.  It didn't hurt that the arms that held him felt rock steady and solid, a testament to Frank's improved health.

          "Yes," Connor whispered.  It was all he could manage.

          And it was all Frank needed.

          Reaching into the nightstand drawer, Frank took out a condom and lube.  He took his time preparing Stephen.  Not because the other man needed the thoroughness, but because Frank wanted to drive all thoughts from his lover's mind, leaving room only for feeling.

          Stephen was on the brink, gasping and panting and needing, damn it!  He was so close, just from Frank's fingers and kisses.  It was always good between them, but Stephen couldn't remember the last time he'd been this strung out

          "God… Frank…" he rasped.  "Do it!"

          The other man didn't pretend to misunderstand.  Shifting position, he quickly rolled the condom onto his aching cock and eased into his lover's willing body.

          "So good," Stephen groaned, clenching his muscles.  Frank's answering gasp let him know the other man fully agreed.

          Frank was determined to hold back as long as possible.  But it had been too long for both of them, and his control snapped.  He quickened his thrusts and all too soon Stephen was howling his release, with Frank only a few strokes behind.

          Frank carefully shifted so he was lying on his side, then pulled Stephen into his arms.  The blond moved willingly, having just enough energy for a light kiss.

          "Still worried I'm fragile?" Powell asked, rubbing lazy circles on his lover's back.

          "Uhmmm, no… I think you've more than proved your point," Stephen murmured, sounding totally enervated.

          Before Frank could respond, he heard a light snore from his partner and he grinned.  They would probably surface for Round Two in a few hours, but for now he'd let Stephen get what rest he could.

          Frank found himself drifting off, too, and decided to go along with the flow.  He and Stephen had weathered another major life-storm together and come through it stronger as a couple.

          He knew with the life they lead there were be more choices and challenges to face, but was content that they would face them together.

 

 

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